


Drowning Sorrows Series

by terma_archivist



Category: Once a Thief (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-02-01
Updated: 1998-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:16:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 111,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: For those unfamiliar with my series, Drowning Sorrows builds around the series John Woo's Once a Thief, and the growing relationship between Victor Mansfield and Mac Ramsey. At the end of the TV series, they were apparently killed in an explosion. In my world, they took the chance to leave the country, heading for Europe, where they made a life for themselves as security experts... and thieves. Always a Thief picks up three years later, when trouble inside the Agency forces the Director to call them in for help, finally admitting that she knew they were still alive. Also drawn in to the trouble is Klaus von dem Eberbach, formerly a Major in NATO Intelligence, now in Interpol. People familiar with the japanese comic (manga) series 'From Eroica With Love' will recognize Klaus. Revenge of the Bolsheviks is the newest book in the Drowning Sorrows series. A mysterious organization kidnaps Mac and the Earl Dorian Red Gloria (also known as the thief Eroica). What are they up to? Starts about six months after the end of Always A Thief. There is also a couple of side stories that falls between Drowning Sorrows and Always a Thief, and I'm sure that there will be more to come.
Relationships: Victor Mansfield/Mac Ramsey
Collections: TER/MA





	1. Drowning Sorrows

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).

**Book One**

  
Mac Ramsey sat watching the man at the bar drink. Victor Mansfield was well on his way to being completely sloshed, and Mac had a feeling that he knew why. 

For the last couple of days Mac and Li Ann, two thirds of their team, had been living together as man and wife, pretending to be a rather offensive married couple, Herbie and Peaches (god help us all), who were also terrorists. "Find out why they're here" the Director had told them. Instead they had spent most of their time getting on each other's nerves. Maybe it was just as well they had never gotten married for real—they would have killed each other inside of a week. 

But when Li Ann had arrived at the bar, looking serious, and had asked to talk to Victor alone... Mac had had a sinking feeling. The look on Victor's face, as Li Ann had left, had confirmed it. She had decided to break off their engagement. Well... he had been surprised that it had lasted _this_ long. He had warned the older man that she was never going to marry him. Mac _knew_ that Li Ann was just _not_ the type to commit. But Victor had ignored him, assuming that it was just jealousy talking. 

Mac finished his drink and thought about leaving. Unfortunately, if Victor did anything stupid, the Director would probably blame him. He wasn't sure that there was anything worse than being forced to deal with Dobrinsky's septic tank, but he didn't want to take the chance. He really didn't want to deal with Mr. Do-It-Yourself Son-Of-A-Bitch Dobrinsky again anytime soon. 

He sighed, and got up to go join Victor. It was going to be a _long_ evening. 

* * *

"I can't believe sea... she dumped me. Jus' like that. Said she wasn't sure marriage was for her. Said it wasn't pretending to be married to you. Hah! S'all yer fault. You didn't like her with me. Thought I wasn't good enough, right? Show.. so you deshided to make sure we broke up..." Victor knocked back his latest drink. Mac didn't think he'd ever seen the straight-laced ex-cop drunk before. He decided it wasn't really a pretty sight. He sighed, and finished off his own drink, then signaled the bartender to bring him another. 

"Wasn't me. Tried to warn you, y'know. Said she wasn't gonna marry you." He waved his fresh drink towards Victor. "Heck, warned ya again when this case started. She won't set a date? Isn't that warnin' enough for ya?" 

Victor frowned. "'s different. We were still engaged. Now she wants to go _think_ about it. Wants to _postpone_ the engagement. How the heck do you postpone an _engagement_?!" 

He waved to the bartender to come refill his glass. The guy behind the bar frowned at him. "Pal, I think you two have had enough. How 'bout I call a cab for you?" Mac and Victor both scowled at the man. 

He saw these two in here a lot, along with the girl who left earlier, and was tempted to cut them some slack. After all, the one guy had just lost his girl, and, from past conversations, it sounded like they were in a pretty tense occupation, anyway What harm could it do to let them have a couple more drinks? Then he remembered the older woman who came in sometimes, the redhead. She scared him. Somehow he figured that if he let these two get arrested as either drunk-and-disorderly, or for driving under the influence, she might come after him. He shuddered, then turned to the phone to call a cab. 

* * *

They had paid off the cabbie and were half-way up in the elevator before they realized they were _both_ heading for Victor's apartment. Mac just shrugged. He was pretty wasted, and Victor was even further along. Better not to leave him alone. Not to mention that the other man might not even make it down the hall under his own power. 

It took Victor three tries to get his key into the lock and turned, then they stumbled into the apartment's living room. 

"Nice view," Mac said, not really looking. 

"Whatever." 

Actually, it was a nice place. Bright, cheery. Yellow paint on the walls. Then Mac got a good look at the stereo system. My God, the man had an eight track! He really needed to join the nineties. 

Victor fumbled around in the kitchen for a few minutes, then came out juggling an unopened bottle of whiskey and two glasses with ice. "You wan' some more?" 

"Sure, why not?" 

They sat on the couch for a while, not actually saying anything, just sipping their whiskeys. Mac finally broke the silence. 

"You know, it's not like she's the only girl out there..." 

"Suuuure. That's why _you're_ shtill mooning after her." 

"I am _not_ mooning after her. It's jus'... we're from the same place. We understand each other. We grew up together. You don't really understand her." 

"And you do? Hah!" 

Mac topped up his glass again. "Anyway, you'll find someone else. You're cute. The girls go for your type." 

"Oh _great_! Just what I wanted to hear. I'm _cute_! You get to be good- looking, handsome, exotic, and I get to be _cute_!!" Victor practically spat out the word, then downed the rest of his drink. 

"Huh? Exotic? What do you mean 'exotic'?" Mac blinked at him, confused at the words and tone. 

"C'mon, you always get noticed by the women. Even the Director chases you around." Mac shuddered at the thought. "Heck, even the men watch ya. You've got tha' gorgeous voice, an' tha' mouth..." Victor was finally reduced to just waving his glass around, incoherently. He picked up the bottle and refilled. 

"Sho.... D'you think I'm cute?" 

"Huh?" Mac looked at him in surprise, having trouble keeping track of the conversation by that point. 

"You shed... said I wouldn't have trouble findin' someone else 'cause I'm _cute_. Doesh tha' mean _you_ think I'm cute?" Victor was staring at him with a strange expression on his face. For a second it almost looked like a... leer? Mac looked at him for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. Answering was probably not a good idea, but the words just popped out... 

"Sure I think you're cute. Why wouldn't I?" 

"How m'I cute?" 

"Huh?" 

"How m'I cute? Detailsh... I gave you detailsh, so it's your turn." 

"Err..." Mac was starting to get _really_ weirded out by the whole conversation. "Well, you've got that that square chin, an' those big 'trust me' eyes, and tha' _cute_ grin." Victor suddenly flashed that grin at him, and Mac couldn't help but to grin back. 

"Sho... you _do_ think I'm cute!" Mac eyed Victor dubiously. The other man was _still_ grinning—not to mention getting closer. In fact, he almost looked... predatory. 

"Ummm... what are you... Maybe I should call a cab... Head home..." 

"Shaddup, Ramsey." With that, Victor pounced. 

Mac blinked, and suddenly found himself flat on his back on the floor next to the couch, with the older man seated firmly on his chest.. "Wait a mi... umph.." He hazily realized that he had stopped talking because there was a tongue trying to migrate down his throat. He tried using his own tongue to push out the invader, but it was _very_ determined. 

Besides, he was quickly loosing interest in fighting. Damn, the man could kiss. Man... oh, man, this was weird. Mac spent the next few moments trying to figure out just _why_ he was kissing a _man_ , and one he didn't like, for that matter. Not to mention, one that needed a shave. He never would have thought that Victor was the type who would even _think_ of doing something like this. Of course, he was wasted enough that he probably wasn't thinking, anyway. Not being able to come to any conclusions, thanks to the alcohol-induced haze he was in, he turned his attention back to his surroundings. 

Somehow they had moved from the living room to the bedroom, and their clothes had disappeared somewhere in the transit. Now he was flat on his back with an armful of squirming, naked Victor. Not his first—or even last—choice in bed-partners. At least, not before that night. 

'He'sh gonna _hate_ me in the morning. Even more than he already doesh,' was all Mac could think. 

"Thish ish... not a good idea..." 

"Sure it issss... The Director said she likes shexual tension in a team, right? So, les' make it a _real_ triangle. An' don't try to get away. I'm faster than you are." 

This was followed up by a lick to his neck, then another tonsil-diving kiss. By that point, Mac's last functioning brain cells were shutting down in total confusion and his cock started talking too loud to hear anything else. He was so confused that the argument almost made _sense_. 

Anyway, if he wasn't going to be able to get away with his... virtue intact, he might as well enjoy it. Right? 

He flipped Victor over onto his back and started his own exploration. It wasn't as though he'd done this before, but 'Hey!' he thought, 'If it's something _I_ like, he'll probably like it too.' He was almost absurdly proud to find that his line of reasoning was reasonable correct. He soon had a writhing Victor under him that was hard to hang onto. He didn't need to ask if the other man was enjoying himself—the stream of babble told him that. 

What did surprise him was how _much_ he was enjoying it. After all, this was _Victor_! Then, suddenly he was back on the bottom and enjoying the attentions that were being lavished on him. Somehow it seemed like there had to be more than just two hands and one mouth involved, because they were _everywhere_! 

Then Victor was laying on top of him, thrusting at him with great vigor. The feeling of cock against cock was more intense than anything he had felt before. Mac thrust back, quickly picking up the tempo, until Victor froze, howling. Mac shuddered, his own orgasm triggered by the sight, and by the feel of the other man's semen spreading warmly across his own stomach. 

Victor collapsed on top of him, snoring already. Mac wiped them both off with a corner of the bedsheet and thought, fuzzily, of getting dressed and calling a cab to get home. He was still considering it when sleep caught up with him. 

* * *

Somebody stop the world, I wanna get off... 

The next morning Victor woke with a pounding headache and a mouth that tasted like something died in it. He was thankful that he didn't have to go to work that day. The Director would have a field day with his condition. 

Now, how the hell did he get this way? 

Then he realized he was wrapped around someone warm. Smiling to himself, he licked at the neck his face was pressed against. Then he heard the pained groan. A very decidedly _masculine_ groan. He lifted up cautiously, stomach protesting the movement vehemently, to see who he was in bed with. It was Mac, and he looked about as hung over as Victor felt. 

"Mac?!?" 

"aaargghhh! not so loud." Mac moaned and covered bloodshot eyes. Then he peaked out again with a confused look on his face. 

"Mac. What are you doing in my bed?" 

"You don't know?" 

"Would I be asking if I did?" 

"I guess not. Ummmm. I'm not sure. You were getting really drunk in the bar last night (at least I _think_ it was last night) and I decided I better baby-sit you, since the Director would blame me if you got in any trouble (and I really don't want to get into any more trouble with her). Oh man... I have _never_ been so drunk in my _life_!" 

" _Baby-sit_?!?" They both winced at the volume. 

"You said something about Li Ann dumping you and it was all my fault, then we both kept drinking. And drinking. And drinking. That's the last I remember. Oooohhh... Damn, my head hurts." Mac rolled over, squinting briefly at some of the strange stains on the bedsheets, and pulled himself upright. 

They both staggered to their feet and made their way out to the living room. They stared at the path of clothing leading to the bedroom, discarded, it seemed, one item at a time. They looked at each other questioningly. 

"Nahhhhh." They both winced, then went to find something to settle their stomachs. 

Victor didn't notice Mac looking back at the bed with a faint look of regret. 

**Aftermath**

"Damnit! How do we get in these messes anyway?" 

Victor popped a fresh clip into his gun while Mac fired off a couple of shots as cover. 

"I mean, what were we told? Two guys with handguns guarding the hostage. What do we find? No hostage and _twenty_ guys with automatics! If they keep doing this to us, we're going to end up _dead_." 

When Victor popped up to take out a couple more of their attackers, Mac just snarled at him. "You might want to cut down the chatter, if we're going to get out of here alive, you know." 

Victor looked at Mac for a second before firing off another few shots. Mac had been very testy for the last few weeks. He seemed to be avoiding Victor's company, and when they _were_ in the same room, Mac was constantly snapping at him. Maybe they had never been exactly _friends_ , but Mac never joked around him, or made suggestive comments anymore, and Victor was missing it. Mac was immature, sarcastic and juvenile, but he was great company. 

Or he used to be. 

But now was _not_ the time to be musing on the meaning of life. They were pinned down at the back of an old warehouse, with no way out, and a lot of _really_ nasty types trying to kill them. Their backup, Li Ann, was on her way, but God only knew if she'd be there in time. 

Then there was a disturbing rattle over to the side. A familiar one. 

Grenade. 

Shit. 

Mac noticed it too. He immediately swept Victor off to the side, around a pile of crates, and landed on top of the older man with just seconds to spare. As his ears rang from the explosion, and the crates came tumbling down on them, Victor felt the unmistakable heat of an erection pressed against his backside. 

What the hell? 

Then everything went black. 

* * *

Pain greeted him when he came to his senses. Mac and Li Ann were hovering over him with concerned looks. 

"Wha... what happened?" They both looked relieved. Mac gave a sheepish grin. 

"One of the crates missed me, but bounced off of your head." Victor touched the back of his head and winced at the pain from the lump. His fingers came away stained slightly red. "Anyway, I was trying to figure out what the heck to do next, when Li Ann came bursting in. A little gunfire, a few stun-grenades, and the fight was over. Y'okay?" 

Victor sat up, gingerly, and gave his head a little shake. It hurt like hell, and his stomach wasn't too crazy about it either, but he was too badly hurt. He could see an Agency cleanup crew dealing with the terrorists, both alive and dead. "Yeah, I'll be okay. A good night's sleep..." 

Mac pulled him to his feet. He swayed for a moment, but stayed upright. Li Ann still looked worried, though. "Mac," she said. "Take him home and make sure he's all right there." 

"Wouldn't you be better..." She glared at him. "All right, all right. We're going. You can explain what happened to the Director, then." She blanched a little at that, but just pointed him at the door. 

* * *

Despite Victor's protests, Mac insisted on stopping to see a doctor first. A mild concussion was the verdict, and he was told to stay away from alcohol, and to go to the hospital if his vision started to go funny, or if he started throwing up. Then Mac drove him home and insisted on escorting him up to his apartment door. 

But at the door, Mac seemed to shut down. He looked everywhere except at Victor or the door, and he looked like he was going to bolt at any second. 

"There. I've gotten you home, and you can tell Li Ann that. See 'ya tomorrow." He was already shuffling in the direction of the elevators when Victor decided that he had had enough. He reached out to snag the young man's arm, and pulled him through the door. Mac opened his mouth to speak. 

"No way, Mac. We need to talk. Now." He waved Mac towards the sofa. The other man sat down, while Victor went to kitchen and filled a couple of glasses with ice water. He handed one of the glasses to Mac and then sat in a chair opposite him. 

"Talk to me, Mac." 

"I... I'm not sure what you mean." 

Victor sighed. This was, obviously, not going to be simple. "You've been avoiding me, treating me like I have the plague, or something. I mean, you won't even look me in the eye right now! I know that you don't really _like_ me, but this is ridiculous." 

Mac muttered something indistinct, still not looking at him. Then he spoke up. "It's not that I don't like you..." 

"Then what's the problem? You've been acting strange since... since..." Victor stopped to think for a moment. "Since we woke up together in my bed." He remembered the stains on the sheets, and grinned. "Why, Mac! Did you take advantage of me while I was drunk?" 

"No!" The response was explosive and definite. Victor's grin just got wider. 

"Well, then, did _I_ take advantage of _you_?" 

"Listen, I _really_ got to get going. Get some sleep and you'll make more sense. 'Bye." 

Victor found himself staring at his apartment door, as it slammed shut behind the young man that had practically fled the room. 

Very interesting. 

* * *

A couple of hours later, Victor was lying in bed considering the revelations of the day. 

First of all, sometime during that alcohol induced blackout when Li Ann had broke off their engagement, he had dragged his other partner partner, Mac Ramsey, into his bed, and apparently had his "wicked way" with the younger man. 

Second, no matter what he had claimed the next morning, Mac remembered exactly what happened. 

Third, he must have enjoyed it, based on the erection he had been sporting when he had pushed Victor to the ground to protect him from the grenade earlier. It certainly indicated that he found Victor at least attractive. 

No wonder Mac was acting like he was scared out of his wits. Probably Mac had always firmly considered himself straight, and wasn't sure how to deal with the fact that a man, let alone _Victor_ , was able to arouse him. Victor could sympathize. The first time _he_ had hit that realization, it had felt like the entire world had changed, and he had wanted things to go back to the way they had been. But he had adjusted. He quickly learned that it didn't matter what sex his partner was. Either was fun, albeit in different ways. 

Idly, he wondered what would have happened if he had met Mac at the same time as he met Li Ann. He was attracted to both of them, for many of the same reasons. If he had met Mac first, instead of Li Ann, he would have pursued the young man the same way that he had pursued the woman who had been his fiancee. If he had met them both at the same time... he wasn't sure which one he might of gone after. Of course, they were engaged until they were separated during their escape from the Hong Kong crime family that had raised and trained them, and he wouldn't have hit on someone who was already taken. He had few inhibitions when it came to sex, but he didn't break up other people's relationships. 

Then he laughed. Mac had made no secret of the fact that he considered Victor to be a boring, anal man. It must have shocked the hell out of him to find that Victor wasn't quite the... fuddy duddy he thought he was. 

So, what next? 

Victor knew that his relationship with Li Ann was over. Since she had "postponed" their engagement, they had slipped into a comfortable friendship, despite the physical awareness. But even if she decided she _did_ want to get married after all, he didn't think he could go back to the way they had been before. There would always be that element of doubt to their relationship. 

But he didn't like being alone, and his choices were limited. Li Ann was out, by her own choice. The Director... He shuddered. That option was _not_ one he was going to consider. And working for a "shadowy government agency" kinda cut down the options for outside dating. 

But Mac? He was funny, if slightly juvenile. Someone Victor would trust at his back in a firefight. Hell, the other man had tried to save him from a grenade just that afternoon. And, of course, the man was sexy as _Hell_. 

So... he knew what he wanted. Now he just had to _get_ it. 

His grin got wider, again. This was going to be fun. Mac wasn't going to know what hit him. 

* * *

Mac stood outside Victor's building for a second, collecting his wits before heading for his car. He couldn't believe just how close he had come to throwing himself at the other man. The man that Li Ann had chosen—for a while, at least- over him. 

What the hell was going on? He couldn't even blame it on the booze, anymore. Here he was, perfectly sober, and he _still_ wanted to jump the man's bones. 

It was just adrenaline. 

Right. 

He did _not_ want the man! 

Shit. Maybe, if he just kept telling himself that, he might actually start to believe it. 

He headed for home. 

**The Seduction of Mac Ramsey**

Mac Ramsey was about to go nuts. Completely and totally nuts. 

For the last few weeks it seemed like every time he turned around, Victor Mansfield was always there. He snarled—Victor was still there. He insulted the man—Victor was still there. He even tried hitting the man. Victor just blocked the blow. And he was _still_ there. Next to him in a fight. Inviting him out for drinks. Flashing that gorgeous grin. And always touching. Brushing past. Patting him on the shoulder. 

Mac wished that he could find some way to get rid of the older man. He had needed to switch to loose pants and long jackets, because it seemed like he was constantly hard. At night he jerked off, trying to think of _anyone_ other than Victor, and failed miserably. 

Why was this happening to him? 

He started chasing women even more intently than before, often succeeding in catching them, but it didn't do him any good. The last blond had even stormed out in a huff. Apparently he had called out Victor's name at the worst possible moment. 

Sometime he wondered what might happen if he threw himself at Victor and begged the man to take him. Then he shook his head. The only result that he could imagine involved him ending up with a broken jaw. 

* * *

"Hey, Mac. Want to go get a beer?" 

"Nope. _I_ have a date." 

"Kerri again?" 

"Nah. Kerri's history. It's Jessica now." 

"Riiight. So how long will _she_ last?" 

"Hey! I'm young. I'm still sowing my wild oats!" 

"One of these days you'll have to grow up. Settle down with _one_ person." 

"Suure. And what woman is going to put up with the hours _we_ work? Let alone not _knowing_ what I do?" 

"Maybe you're just looking in the wrong place." 

What did he mean by that? 

* * *

Mac grimaced as he pulled off his clothes. He dumped the once-nice outfit in the corner to be taken for incineration, trying not to smell the slime that caked it. Then he stepped into the locker room shower and turned the water on as hot as it would go. 

A cold draft ran across his back and he groaned as he saw Victor step into the shower, naked as the day he was born. He refused to let himself look at the other man, praying that the steam was thick enough to hide his immediate physical response. 

"What the hell _was_ that stuff, anyway?" 

Oh great. Now he would have to talk too? "Don't know. Don't think I _want_ to know." 

"Good point." 

Mac quickly soaped up and rinsed off, then tried to make his escape. 

"You missed a spot." 

"Huh?" 

"You missed a spot. There's still a smear on your back. Here, let me." 

Mac froze as a soapy sponge rubbed briskly at a spot above his left shoulder-blade. Bit by bit, the pressure let up, until it was almost a caress. He resisted the urge to lean into the touch by pure force of will. 

Then he jumped as a hand smacked his rear end. 

"There you go. All clean." 

Mac grabbed his towel and beat a hasty retreat. How the hell was he supposed to get his spare pants on over this monster woody? 

* * *

Mac hunched over his beer, trying to ignore the rest of the world. He knew he was wallowing in guilt, but he didn't care. A gentle touch on his shoulder brought him out of himself. 

"You okay, Ramsey?" 

He tapped his finger against the side of the beer glass. It was still his first one, since he really didn't want to hide in a drunken haze. "Not really. I've never had to do that before. I mean, shooting a terrorist with a gun was one thing. Shooting an unarmed woman..." 

"If you hadn't, she would have made it to that switch. Then you, I, Li Ann and half a million innocent people would have died." 

"I know. I just wish..." 

"C'mon. Let's get out of here." 

For once, Mac didn't argue. He just followed Victor, completely docile, out of the bar to his truck. He didn't ask where they were going. He quickly realized that they were headed for Victor's apartment. Perhaps he should have objected, but he really didn't want to be alone. 

Once inside the apartment, Victor took firm control. Mac found himself pushed into a warm bubble bath for half an hour, then dried and wrapped in a fuzzy robe. Food was placed in front of him and he ate mechanically. Then he was slipped into Victor's bed, with the covers pulled up under his chin. He fell asleep hearing Victor preparing to spend the night on the sofa. 

* * *

Sometime during the night, the usual nightmares woke him up partway. Warm lips brushed his forehead, chasing the last of the dream away, and a soft voice urged him back to sleep. He went willingly, comforted by the other presence. 

* * *

The next morning, Mac woke to bright sunshine. He stretched, feeling completely relaxed for the first time in a long while. He wrapped himself in Victor's robe again, and padded out to the main room. 

Victor greeted him with a big smile and a cup of coffee. "So. Did you sleep well?" 

"Yeah, I did. Thanks." He sipped the coffee, then looked up. "ummm, thanks for... chasing the... nightmare away." His face heated up in mild embarrassment. 

"All part of the service." 

"I just don't understand _why_." 

Victor frowned. "Because you were hurting. I don't like seeing people I care about hurting." 

"Yeah, but you don't exactly care a lot about me." Mac winced when he noticed the slightly bitter tone to his voice. 

By this point, they were both sitting on the sofa. They weren't quite touching, but Mac could feel the warmth of the other man's body. The hairs on his arm were standing up and he felt a need to shiver. 

"Whatever gave you that idea? I care a _lot_." Victor shifted over a little until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder. Mac could no longer control the shivers running through him. His blood was running hot and cold, and he could no longer misinterpret the signals the other man was giving off. 

"But you... Li Ann..." 

"We were together. We aren't anymore. What does that have to do with you and me?" 

"But you... like girls!" 

"And I like guys. I've known that since I was much younger than you. You're an attractive man, a _very_ attractive man. You're funny, witty, a good man to have at your back in a fight. When you loose the sarcasm, you're fun to be around. Why wouldn't I be attracted to you?" 

Mac blushed. Victor reached over and brushed his fingers against Mac's cheek. The stubble rasped loudly. 

"Why don't you go shower and shave. I'll make breakfast." 

* * *

Mac wiped the moisture off of the bathroom mirror as he started up the electric razor. The face he saw was almost that of a stranger. 

Victor _wanted_ him. All he had to do was... ask. But did _he_ want to? All his life he had focused just on girls, especially since... But that was long past. 

He wanted Victor, but was he ready for all that being with him would mean? He could keep on the way he was right now. He shuddered at the thought of more one night stands with women who didn't understand. Didn't know how to deal with the nightmares. Wouldn't put up with the broken dates. With Victor, those problems would be gone. 

But what about Li Ann. If she decided she wanted Victor back, what would the other man do? If he went back to her, where would that leave Mac? Was he willing to take that chance? 

He laughed suddenly. Deep thoughts for a man standing in a towel shaving. The real question was if he was willing to walk out of the apartment, still wondering what it _could_ be like? 

* * *

When Mac went back out to the main part of the apartment he was still wearing the robe, even though he had found his clothing neatly folded on a chair in the bedroom. Victor didn't comment, just putting a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. Something "shoop-shooped" over the speakers, while Victor sang about "it's in his kiss". 

After breakfast, Mac offered to wash the dishes. He was elbow deep in suds when he felt arms wrap around his waist. This time he didn't fight the urge, and leaned back into the embrace. Victor chuckled into his ear. 

"Does this mean you're going to let me seduce you?" the man said with a smile. 

"Yeah. How long?" 

"How long what? How long have I been attracted to you? Since we met." 

"Hah! When we met you tried to beat the crap out of me." 

"Well, you were a stranger, standing in the middle of Li Ann's apartment. What was I supposed to do? But you just looked so... adorable, standing there holding that bunch of red roses." 

Mac chuckled "And you were standing there with a bunch of white roses. Anyway, that wasn't what I meant. How long have you been working at seducing me?" 

"Since that day when you brought me home after I got bashed by a crate. When you flew out of here, I knew I was right about having... molested you that time I was so drunk. I decided to see if you would be... receptive. When my efforts resulted in constant hardons on your part, I decided I was on the right track. I'm glad." Lips brushed below Mac's ear, and he groaned. "C'mon, Mac. Let me make you feel good." 

Victor lead him back into the bedroom, and he followed, more than willingly. Victor quickly stripped his clothes off, folding them neatly and placing them on top of the pile of Mac's. Mac couldn't help laughing at the almost anal neatness being displayed. 

But when the other man moved over to stand in front of him, he moved with a feline, almost predatory, grace. He gulped as the other man undid the robe's belt and slipped it off his shoulders, letting it fall into a pool around his feet. Victor reached out to stroke his chest. 

"Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful." Victor pinched lightly at the nipples, until they stood as tight peaks. Then he leaned forward to flick at one of them with his tongue. Mac felt a jolt run through his body, and he let his head fall back. He groaned as he felt Victor fasten lips on one of his nipples and suck. 

Mac decided that it was time that he showed some initiative. He pulled the other man over to the bed, and they lay down, side by side. He moved forward to kiss Victor, using every skill he had ever learned. The man tasted of orange juice and the spices that were in the eggs. The smoothness of his face, and the faint smell of after-shave lotion said that he had shaved before Mac had woken up. 

Gradually, they moved closer together until they were pressed tightly together, chest to chest. Mac pulled his mouth away with a gasp when he felt Victor's erection brush against his own. Victor smiled at him. 

"Shh. Let me make you feel good," he said again. 

Victor rolled them over so that Mac was on his back. He started nibbling his way down the young man, sucking and licking at the pulse point, nipples, navel and anywhere else that looked to be sensitive. Then he stretched out, full-length, over Mac, supporting most of his weight on his forearms. He started to gently rub their groins together. 

Mac moaned, and started thrusting back against the other man's movements. He reached up, blindly, to grab the Victor's face, and pulled him down into a deep kiss, the thrusts of his tongue synchronized with the movement of their hips. 

* * *

Victor gradually increased the tempo of his thrusts, until Mac was writhing under him, out of control from the sensations. Then he reached down to take both their cocks in a firm grip. That one touch was all that was needed to tip Mac over the edge, and Victor followed behind him quickly. 

When their breathing had calmed down, Victor moved towards the bedstand. Mac clutched at him, as though he thought Victor was going to leave. 

"Just a second, love. I just want to get us cleaned up before we stick together." He grabbed the damp cloth from where he had put it while Mac had started the dishes. It was still slightly warm, and he used it to wipe up the pools of semen. Then he settled back under the covers and pulled the young man into a tight embrace. Mac snuggled in as closely as he could. Victor wondered, briefly, what had made the other man so insecure. 

Then he slung one leg over Mac's, and they both slipped off to sleep. 

**Red Roses**

Victor Mansfield was in a bad mood. He had spent the day chasing down leads on a case they were working on. Someone had stolen a truckload of high-tech guns from a military convoy. While it was in transit. With _no one_ noticing. So far he had come up empty, but tomorrow was another day, Scarlett. 

He hoped. 

He suddenly stopped in the act of tossing his jacket over the back of the sofa. Sitting on his coffee-table was a vase he had never seen before. It was delicate, obviously Chinese, and very beautiful. In it was an arrangement of red and white roses. He smiled, remembering his first sight of Mac Ramsey, standing holding a bouquet of red roses. 

When Mac had been involved with Li Ann, he had always given her white roses. When he found out she was working for the Agency, he had stolen the information on where she was living, and broke into her apartment. To surprise her, he had run around filling all the vases with white roses. Only problem was that they were already full of red roses given to her by Victor. When _he_ had arrived, the result was almost a french farce. Puzzled to find the vases full of white roses, with his red roses lying beside them, he had started putting the red ones back. Then, as he moved to the next room, Mac had come out and started changing the bouquets again, not sure what was going on. Finally they had run into each other, and had proceeded to try to beat each other up—while not damaging the premises, of course—until Li Ann had arrived. 

Victor stroked one of the roses, smiling at the memory, then headed for the bedroom. Standing in the doorway, he admired the sight of a naked—and very aroused—Mac Ramsey stretched out on his bed, rose petals decorating his skin. 

"Been waiting long?" 

"Far too long," came the smiling response. "So why don't you get rid of those clothes and come join me?" 

Victor quickly stripped, dropping his clothes on the floor, just to see the other man grin. Then he leaped, bouncing onto the bed next to Mac. A mock wrestling match ensued, leaving them both laughing and leaking with arousal. 

Finally, Victor managed to pin his lover to the mattress. He slithered his way down Mac's body to suck on his cock. He worked at keeping the suction from being too strong, running his tongue around the edge of the head. In the few weeks since they had become lovers, Victor had worked hard at mapping every single one of the younger man's erogenous zones. The appreciative sounds that Mac made were more than worth the effort. 

But he always made sure to keep his hands away from Mac's ass. Everytime he had tried to touch the man there, Mac froze completely. Victor hadn't pressed the man for reasons—yet—but he was going to have to, sooner or later. He had also found out, the first time that Mac had spent the night, that he suffered from frequent nightmares. Victor had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what the signs added up to, and he didn't like it _at all_. 

He put it out of his mind for the moment, and concentrated on the task at hand. 

* * *

"Oh, man! I hurt like hell." 

Victor winced as Mac stripped. The young man was already turning spectacular shades of black and blue. They had finally tracked down the fringe group that had stolen the weapons (would you believe they did it with _mirrors_?) and had moved in. Unfortunately, someone taking a leak outside had seen Mac and had managed to grab him. Victor and Li Ann had rescued him, and recovered the stolen guns, but not before several of the nuts had beaten Mac up. According to the Agency doctor, there were no serious injuries, but he was going to hurt for a while. 

"Climb into bed, love." 

Mac headed for the bedroom, while Victor locked up. He threw a few of those natural grain heat pads into the microwave for the required length of time, then grabbed towels and a bottle of massage oil from the bathroom. He wrapped one of the heatpads around the bottle of oil before rejoining his lover. Mac was naked, lying on his side on the bed. 

"Lie on your back, and let me rub some of those aches away." Mac turned over, obediently. 

Victor stripped down to his boxers, and moved to straddle Mac. He slipped a couple of the heat pads under Mac, where the bruising was the worst, then warmed his hand against one and poured some of the massage oil into his cupped hand. He started to firmly stroke at the muscular chest beneath him, keeping the pressure light, over the bruises, then increased the pressure where there were none. After thoroughly massaging the area, he repeated the process, rubbing in Tiger Balm this time. Then he moved down the bed to give the legs the same treatment. 

"Roll over, so I can do your back." 

Mac hesitated for a moment, then turned. This time, Victor started with the legs and worked his way up, still careful not to touch Mac's ass. When he reached Mac's back, he had moved to sit beside Mac, instead of straddling him. He was working the oil into Mac's back when he noticed an unusual texture beneath his fingers. Leaning closer, he releazed that there were scars on his lower back and- he could barely see—extending down onto the buttocks. 

"Mac, what are these scars from?" 

Instantly the young man was as tense as he had previously been relaxed. "I don't know what you're talking about." The delivery was flat, completely unlike Mac's usual annimated tones. 

Victor continued massaging at the hard muscles in the shoulders. "The scars on your back. I can't force you to tell me about them, but I wish you would." 

Mac rolled away and curled up on his side. Victor climbed into the bed and held him. "It's all right. You don't _have_ to tell me anyhing." 

"Michael." 

Victor was startled at the apparent non-sequitor, then he frowned. "Your foster brother? The one who was obsessed with Li Ann? What about him?" He had a feeling he _knew_ 'what about him.' 

"He wasn't always obsessed with _her_." Mac shivered a little. "That's the main reason I kept urging her to leave with me. Michael wanted her, and I knew what that meant." 

Victor was seeing red. "Michael forced himself on you?" Mac nodded. "He... hurt you?" Mac turned in his arms and curled up against him. 

"It started when we were both teens. He didn't look like it, but he was a couple of years older than me. One night, when I was fifteen, I woke up to find him in my bedroom. He said he wanted me. That he needed me. I was scared—he had a dangerous temper back then, and he resented the fact that his father cared so much for me and Li Ann. But I was also a little flattered. I looked up to him back then. 

"Anyway, I let him... It was nice at first. He was almost tender. Then he started to get angry. Then he started bringing toys. He made threats to make sure that I wouldn't tell his father. Then, suddenly, he stopped coming. That was a few years ago. I quickly moved out, into my own apartment. 

"I never told anyone. Michael would have been furious, and he scares me. He was never quite... sane." 

Victor stroked the other man's back, soothingly. "Well, he's dead now. He's not going to hurt you ever again. And I will _never_ hurt you." 

"Are you sure? His body was never found." 

"Li Ann saw him drive off the edge of the road, into the water." 

"But his body wasn't in the car! Sometimes, when I wake in the middle of the night, I'm sure I'm going to see him standing there, waiting for me to wake up. To do whatever he orders. Holding that damn whip. Carrying that bag of toys that he liked to use on me. Shove up me." Mac was trembling uncontrollably at that point, but his eyes were still dry. Victor could see that he wasn't really focused on the here and now. He started kissing Mac's face. 

"Shhh. It's all right. He's gone. I won't ever do that to you. Nothing you don't want. Shhh." Gradually, Mac started to relax. When the last of the tremors were gone, he started to nuzzle at Victor's chest. Victor had lost his erection while listening to Mac talking about his abuse, but now he could feel both of them getting getting hard again. He wasn't sure that they should do this, not with everything so fresh in Mac's mind. Then a hand slipped inside his boxers, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to resist. 

Maybe... 

"Mac" 

"Hmmm?" 

"Did he ever let you... fuck him?" 

Mac raised his head to look at Victor in confusion. "Of course not. Why would he?" 

"Would you like to fuck me?" Mac was immediately shaking his head, violently. 

"No! I'd hurt you. I don't want to hurt you!" 

"Shh. You wouldn't hurt me. I'll tell you what to do, how to do it right. Here." He handed Mac the bottle of massage oil, then slipped his boxers off and rolled onto his side, facing away from Mac. "Pour some of the oil on your hand. Now, put one finger in my ass. Yes. Now move it around gently. Oh yes, just like that. Now pull it out and pour some more oil on your hand. This time put in two fingers. Open and close them, like scissors, until the muscle starts to relax. Oh God!" Victor jerked in Mac's arms. Mac immediately pulled away. 

"I hurt you! Shit!" 

"No, Mac. You just rubbed my prostate. It felt _good_. Like a flash running through me. Come back, please. Now do that again, but put in three fingers this time. Oh yes! Now, pour some of the oil on your cock. Push just the head in." Victor hissed a little at the feeling. "Just hold still while my ass relaxes. Hmmm. It's been a while. Now, push in further. Slowly. Yes. More. More!" 

When Victor felt Mac's balls against his ass, he couldn't hold still anymore. He started undulating back and forth against the other man. He reached back to grab Mac's hand and brought it around to his own cock. "Touch me. Please!" 

Mac started jerking him off, while he thrust harder and harder. He was practically whimpering into Victor's ear. Then he froze, and came with a sob. A couple of last tugs was all it took to finish off Victor as well. 

* * *

Mac clung to Victor, his breathing still erratic. Gradually, he felt himself slip out of Victor. He wished he could have stayed there forever. The idea of someone putting something in his ass still scared him, but he couldn't deny that Victor seemed to have enjoyed it. 

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" 

The sound that Victor made was almost a purr. Pure satisfaction. "Never." 

"Do you... want to... do me?" 

"Someday. When it doesn't scare you so much. When you want me to." 

"What if I never do?" 

"Then we won't. You can keep doing me." 

Mac cuddled up close again. Tears leaked from under his lashes, falling on Victor's chest. He wished he could really believe that Michael was really gone forever. A few ghosts had been exorcised, but not all of them. 

Maybe someday. 

THE END 

Note: OK, so I'm playing with the end of the movie a little. On the other hand, they never _showed_ a body, or mentioned whether Michael died or survived, so in my universe, he disappeared. He _might_ still be alive. 

You see, I've got a hankering to do hurt/comfort, with Mac being hurt, and Victor doing the comforting, so I'll probably be putting poor Mac through the wringer. 

**Drowning Sorrows Again**

Mac Ramsey stared into his glass, looking for answers in the alcohol. He didn't think he was going to find any, but he was certainly going to try. 

"I still can't believe you were going to marry her, Mac." 

Mac refused to look at Victor. In the corner of his eye, he could see Li Ann and the Director talking intently. "I told you, I wanted some stability in my life. Change." 

"But what about me? Mac, I love you, and you were just going to walk away!" 

Mac snorted, then took a gulp from his glass. "Yeah, right. C'mon, Vic, we both know that isn't true." 

"What do you mean?" 

"A couple of months ago, you were in love with Li Ann." 

"I'm not anymore, if that's what you're getting at." 

"Right! You _were_ in love with her, then _poof_ you aren't Now you say you're in love with me. How long until you aren't?" He shook his head, as Victor opened his mouth. "Don't say it. If you want to keep sleeping together, fine. The sex is great, I can't deny that. But don't try to get serious, cause we both know it won't last. That's why I was going to marry Claire. I thought we had something that _could_ last." 

He finished off the glass, then signaled for a refill. 

"I'm not setting myself up for this kind of grief again." 

* * *

Victor shook his head. He had been horrified when Mac had announced that he was getting married. Still, he had arranged a stag party (such as it was), and promised to stand up as first man, while still trying to track down the missing uranium. The fact that Mac's wife-to-be was the main suspect in the case hadn't helped. 

But, the whole time, he had been dying inside. Li Ann dumping him had hurt like hell. Finding out that _Mac_ was dumping him was even worse, and he wasn't sure why, but he had hidden it. Now Mac was saying that he didn't _trust_ Victor's feelings? Didn't believe him? 

Maybe he should have shown the hurt. 

Meanwhile, he was going to have to prove to Mac that he did love him. It would be a longer, and far more difficult campaign than seducing the beautiful young man, but he was going to give it his best shot. He certainly wasn't going to give up without a fight. 

Not this time. 

* * *

"She did love me, y'know. She couldn't shoot me." 

Victor grunted an affirmative as he supported Mac down the hallway. He propped Mac up against the wall, next to his apartment door, then he paused. He didn't have a key to Mac's apartment, and he didn't think that it would be a good idea to go fishing through the man's pockets. Instead, he pulled out a lock-pick and used it to jimmy the door open. 

"She had the gun. She coulda shot me easy. She didn't. Maybe she shoulda." 

"Don't talk silly, Mac." 

Inside, he quickly and efficiently stripped his lover, then tucked him into bed. In the kitchen, he made up a glass of the Mansfield Secret Recipe Hangover Remedy. He placed the glass, along with a couple of aspirin on the bedside table, then sat down and propped Mac up. 

"C'mon, Ramsey, upsy daisy. Trust me, you're gonna be miserable in the morning if you don't drink this." 

Mac waved the glass away. "'M already miserable. Don' wan' it. Wanna stay miserable." 

"Please?" Victor put all the pleading he could into his voice, but trying to keep it light. 

A little more coaxing, and Mac finally swallowed the aspirin, and the hangover remedy, making gagging noises at the taste. Hopefully he would feel better when he woke up. Then Victor tucked the man back under the covers and got up to leave. A hand shot out to grab his. 

"please don't go," came the whisper. 

"This wouldn't be a good idea." But he didn't pull away. He had planned to sleep on the sofa, but he knew it was damned uncomfortable. 

"I don't want to be alone tonight." Mac was starting to sound a little more sober, already, but his eyes were closed. Victor sighed. 

"All right." He stood up long enough to strip down to his underwear, then slipped under the covers. Mac rolled into his arms, and Victor stroked his hair. "It's going to be all right. You'll see. I'm not going anywhere." 

A snore was the only response. 

* * *

When Victor woke up, Mac wasn't there. He got up and headed for the living room. He smiled, remembering the time they had spent locked up in the apartment with Dobrinsky after Nicholas Love had started killing off male agents. The most frustrating thing had been the fact that they hadn't been able to fool around with the third man there. They had over-compensated by annoying the hell out of each other, trying to keep Dobrinsky from realizing they were involved. They had probably failed miserably. 

"Morning." Mac was holding out a coffee mug. 

"Morning, yourself. Feeling better?" 

"A little." 

Victor was disturbed at how lifeless Mac looked. Yesterday's events had really hit the man hard. He drank the coffee, silently, and waited for Mac to say something. Mac wandered over the window. 

"I was wondering. D'you think she knows?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Do you think she knows we're sleeping together?" 

"Who, Claire?" 

"No! The Director." 

Victor frowned. "Why would she know?" 

"C'mon, Vic! She knows _everything_. Sometimes I think she has everybody's apartments bugged, or something." 

Victor laughed. "I think you're getting paranoid, man. I doubt she would bother bugging her own operatives." Mac snorted. "If she did, wouldn't she have said something by now?" 

"Maybe she's just waiting for the right moment. Or the worst moment, which, for her, would be the same thing." 

"Are you saying you want to end everything? Not have anything to do with each other outside of work?" 

"No. Like I said, the sex is really good." 

Victor sighed. He thought about pressing the point, but decided that it really wasn't a good time yet. "So what _do_ you want to do?" 

"I want to go to bed." Mac moved to stand in front of Victor. "Do you want to come with me?" 

Victor considered for a moment, then followed him into the bedroom. They both slipped out of their underwear and came together in the middle of the bed. Victor wasn't sure that this was a good idea, but both of them needed the contact. He responded, eagerly, to the kisses. Up until now, Mac had been surprisingly passive. That was obviously at an end. He liked the change. It was about time that the "old" Mac reasserted himself. 

When Mac rolled him over onto his stomach and prepared him for entry, he didn't resist . He was a little surprised at how tender Mac was with him. Considering Mac's mood, he had expected a rougher ride, but instead it was slow and tender. When they both came, it was quietly. 

Idly, he wondered if maybe Mac was right. Did the Director know? Did it really matter? 

Then they both fell asleep. 

* * *

The Director looked thoughtful, as she popped the tape out of the VCR, then placed it with the others. The records for her favorite team were getting quite bulky. She hadn't been kidding about liking the sexual tension dynamic in a team, but this might damaging. 

But she might as well allow it to continue—for now. It was possible that Victor could keep Mac from getting _too_ out of hand. 

Well, she doubted that. 

Still, you never know. It was interesting seeing how they behaved around Li Ann these days. Besides. The tapes were great entertainment. And if there ever was a problem? Well... the Cleaners had been assigned to deal with these sorts of problems before. 

She popped a kernel of popcorn in her mouth and cued up the next tape. Maybe next time she should invite Li Ann to join her. _That_ might be _very_ interesting. 

**Temptations**

Victor lay on his bed, staring up and the ruined light fixture, and wondered just how he had managed to get himself in this mess. He had almost lost his friends, and nearly gotten himself killed at the same time. 

Victor had always wondered why Mac and Li Ann were so hung up on the Tang family. Sure, they had been raised by the family, and stole for the family, but why were they so obsessed? 

Now... he had an idea of how they felt. He had started out infiltrating the mob on orders from the Director, but he had found the family atmosphere to be... addictive. He didn't have any family right now, except Li Ann, who had dumped him, and Mac, who didn't believe that Vic was in love with him. Then, suddenly, he was being embraced by a family that _wanted_ him. And he had fallen for it. 

And it had almost gotten him killed. 

When the knock came at his door, he knew that it had to be Mac. Mac probably wanted to yell at him for been a fool, and he deserved it. So, he got up and opened the door. 

Yep. It was Mac. 

"So, Vic. How do we feel today?" 

"If you're here to yell at me, get it over with." Victor closed the door, as the grinning man entered the apartment. 

Mac's grin gentled a little bit. "Nah. I'm still pissed about you not being there to back me and Li Ann up, but the rest of it? I understand." 

Mac sat down on the sofa. "It sucks you in, doesn't it? Sometimes, a betrayal is the only thing that can make you break away." 

"The voice of experience?" 

"Hey, I'm not just an immature jerk, y'know." 

"She does know. You knew that." 

"What do you mean?" 

Victor pulled Mac up off the coach and into the bedroom. He pointed at the shot-up remains of the overhead light fixture. "She called me up to tell me to get out of the assignment. I wouldn't pick up the phone. She said she wasn't guessing when she said that I was there, and started describing exactly where I was and what I was doing at the time. You knew, didn't you." 

Mac sighed. "Yeah. When I told her I was getting married, she started quoting things I told Claire. She said I was an agent living in a secured building, in an apartment owned by the Agency, so what did I expect? That was one of the main reasons I wanted to get away." 

"So. Now what." 

'We ignore it? Maybe she just enjoys the show. Or we sweep our apartments every day. Wait for her to say something. Whatever. Just do me one favor." 

Victor frowned. "What's that?" 

"Keep that blonde twit away from me!" 

Victor blinked at the sudden change of subject, then grinned. "I thought you _liked_ blondes." 

Mac shuddered. "Except her! She _scares_ me, man. That chick is _totally_ nuts. I can't believe that the Director wants us to work with her!" Victor snickered. 

"Anyway, that's not why I'm here. _I_ am here to cheer _you_ up, so get dressed and let's _go_." 

* * *

Mac had been worried when Victor opened the door. The older man had looked so... lost. He had planned to teasing the man for a while for falling for the trap before dragging him out, but he had quickly changed his plans. 

He sympathized with Vic. Leaving the Tangs had been his choice, while Victor had been betrayed _big_ time. Mac had been with the Tangs for years, while for Vic it had been a very short time. Still, the hurt was the same. 

Forget the teasing. He just wanted to get Vic smiling. 

* * *

"Ah, c'mon Mac. You've _got_ to be joking." They were standing outside of one of those Hong Kong restaurants that Mac and Li Ann were always going to. 

"Live a little, Vic. You never know, you might _like_ it, horrifying a thought that might be." Mac stared at him expectantly, grin glued all over his face, while Victor stood considering it. He happened to like the American version of Chinese food. He didn't really want to try the "authentic" version that Mac was always going on about, but if it would help convince Mac that he was serious... 

"All right. But no squid, you hear me?" Mac just grinned at him. 

* * *

Actually, it ended up being a great evening. Victor was surprised to find out that he enjoyed the food, not that he was going to admit that. He had still refused to try the squid, no matter how much a production Mac made out of eating it. However, Mac's production of sucking the sauce off of a teensy squid had left him partly nauseous, and partly aroused. 

Then Mac had dragged him off to a music club. Victor had groaned, inwardly, at the thought of listening to that modern junk that Mac called music. 

Instead, it turned out to be a blues club. He wasn't even sure how Mac had found the place. The music had been fantastic, and so had the company. Mac had even seemed to enjoy the music, despite the sarcastic comments. Who knows, maybe the younger man was discovering that they had more in common than they thought. That- maybe—they could coexist as more than the "friends who sleep together," or whatever, that he seemed to want to keep their relationship as. 

Certainly, Mac was a lot more relaxed than he had been since his ill-fated attempt at getting married. 

At the end of the evening, Victor had been surprised to find that his bad mood had completely evaporated. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was to get his partner home, and into bed. 

* * *

The cab dropped them off in front of Victor's building in the wee hours of the morning. Neither man was really drunk, merely mellow, but neither was going to risk driving. The Agency's penalties for getting arrested for drunk driving were... to be avoided. Especially since Dobrinsky was in charge of punishment, most of the time. They were heading for the door to the building, when a car came screeching around the corner. 

"Hit the deck!" Victor shouted as he reached for his gun. They both ducked behind a handy pillar near the doors, guns drawn and safeties off. Bullets slammed into the pillar as they dived for it. 

"Who _are_ they?" Victor shouted. 

"How the hell should _I_ know? They're outside _your_ building, so maybe _you_ should know." They fired on the vehicle as it headed around the corner, then it was gone. They stood up, looking in the direction that the car had gone. 

"Well, I suppose _that_ better get reported." 

* * *

As soon as they reached Victor's apartment, he phoned in the shooting to the Agency. He listened for a moment, then hung up. 

"So. What did they say?" 

"They said that they would send forensics to collect the bullets outside. Nathan will start checking anyone who might have a grudge against me and is currently out of jail. In the meantime, we're to stay put." 

"We?" 

"We." 

Mac groaned, and Victor was tempted to do the same. He was beginning to wonder if there was _anyone_ who didn't know about the two of them. It wasn't a comfortable feeling. 

In the meantime, he had a massive amount of adrenaline to work out, and from the way Mac was fidgeting, so did he. Victor watched him for a moment, then launched himself at the other man. 

"oomph! What the...?" Victor decided to take advantage of the open mouth, diving in for a very thorough kiss. Mac resisted for a second, then started cooperating. 

"Seems to me that _someone_ is a little horny. What say we move this party into the bedroom. At least we know the camera in _there_ isn't working." 

"Assuming it's the only one. Don't care. Still, bed _is_ a lot more comfortable. Let's go." Victor jumped to his feet, then dragged Mac up and into the bedroom. Once there, he threw Mac on the bed, then stripped. Just for the heck of it, he turned it into a show, teasing the young man. The grin—as well as the growing bulge in the dress slacks—told him that the show was appreciated. 

Victor straddled Mac, and started undoing the buttons on his shirt. " _You_ are wearing _far_ too many clothes," he purred as he stripped the other man. Mac never seemed to dress casual. It was always fashion-plate suits, and silk shirts. It did make stripping him a lot of fun, though. He kissed, nibbled and sucked at each bit of flesh as it was revealed. By the time Mac was completely naked, he was doing a pretty good imitation of a puddle. 

Victor was doing his best to rub himself all over Mac's body, when the younger man surged, and flipped him over. "I'll have to remember how much bullets flying turns you on, Vic. Maybe the next time we come under fire in an alley I'll just take you against the brick wall. Would you like that?" Victor moaned, as Mac sucked a hickey into life on his neck. He was _really_ getting to like having an aggressive Mac in his bed. 

Mac moved up his body to straddle his head. His cock was hard and flushed, right in front of Victor's face. He reached up and pulled the head into his mouth. Running his tongue around the edge, he listened for the moans to tell him what were the right places that night. 

"Oh, yeah! Just like that. Suck it hard." Mac dug his fingers into Victor's hair, not finding much purchase in the short-cropped locks. 

Victor exercised his tongue, energetically, letting Mac control the rhythm, only using his hands to keep the eager hip thrusts from going too far. The dirty talk just encouraged his efforts to new heights. It didn't take long for Mac to explode, and Victor swallowed, milking it out as long as possible. 

Mac slid back onto the bed, a boneless heap. Victor rolled him on his side, facing away from him, and slid his own neglected cock between Mac's thighs. The other man froze. 

"Nothing you don't want," he whispered in an ear. "Just squeeze your thighs together, that's all. Oooh!" He began thrusting, muscled thighs providing the friction necessary. Each thrust bumped at the back of Mac's balls, causing groans. After he finally came, he snagged his shirt to wipe them up. Then they curled up in the tangled nest of covers and to go to sleep. 

"I _definitely_ need to remember how much gunplay turn you on," Mac muttered in a sleepy voice as he drifted off. Victor just grunted, in a completely satisfied way. 

* * *

"Well, as yet there are no leads on who fired on you last night. Nobody has been released from jail recently that might bear a grudge." The Director prowled behind the three operatives, frowning. "The markings on the bullets don't match those used in any other crimes that the computer can find. Neither of you saw the license plate numbers on the car, and there were no witnesses—not surprising, considering the hour." She raised an eyebrow, silently commenting on just _why_ the two men were out at such an hour. 

"Of course, even though the shots were fired in front of Victor's building, there is the possibility that they were intended for Mac." She leaned forward to purr in his ear. "After all, Mac recently made a mistake that let the Tangs know that he and Li Ann were still alive. Mr Tang _might_ still be angry enough to send someone after him." She pinched his cheek, hard enough to make him wince. 

"Of course, if it _is_ the Tangs, then Li Ann will also be a target. As a result, we will need to be more careful. Jackie, you will be moving in with Li Ann, for the time being." She ignored the groan from the petite oriental, and the grin from the blond ex-mob queen. "As for you two boys. Obviously Victor's apartment is compromised, so, for the meanwhile, you will move in with Mac. I'm sure neither of you will object." She patted Victor on the shoulder as she went past. The two men sighed, then nodded. "Good. In the meantime, you still have a job to do, so get moving." 

She smiled watching them leave. Sometimes she felt like such a matchmaker. But, they still needed to find out who wanted one of her operatives dead, which one and why. She called in Dobrinsky, with the files, and prepared for a long afternoon. 

  
**Innocents**

Victor got out of his truck with a sigh. Getting away from the Rivers had been a relief. A night spent drinking "ta-hootie fruitie", as they called it, watching the "boys" play twister and trying to fend off the roving hands of Mrs. Rivers had been worse than his idea of hell. But then, that was why the Director had sent him there. 

But he'd finally managed to make a graceful escape, without upsetting any of that crazy family. Hopefully he'd be able to avoid running into them in the future. Now he was finally heading for home and bed. More specifically, _Mac's_ home and _Mac's_ bed. He'd been living there since someone had tried to kill one, or both, of them. There had been two more attempts since then, but only when they were together, so they still didn't have a clue who the actual target was for. In case the Tangs were behind it, LiAnn had stayed with Jackie for a couple of weeks, but there had been no moves against her, so they had been able to go back to seperate apartments before they managed to kill each other, but Mac and Victor were still living at Mac's place. 

Not that he objected, of course. He was using it in his campaign to convince Mac that what they had was more than just sex, and could last long-term. 

He paused at the door, remembering what had happened when the Rivers boys had pointed the guns at them, apparently about to obey Mr. Smith's orders to kill them. He remembered the sudden tug at the cuffs joining them as Mac pulled them around so that Mac was facing the guns and Vic was on the far side of the pillar. 

Mac may _say_ that he didn't love Victor, but his actions said otherwise. 

* * *

Mac was finally drifting back to sleep. Having the Director show up in his bedroom, wearing vinyl and lace, was like something out of a nightmare. She thought that leaving him was the punishment. Truth was, having her _in_ the bed was more of a punishment. Suddenly, he felt the other side of the bed dip, and he threw himself off the wide, grabbing for a weapon. This time she was _not_ going to paw him. 

"Hey! What the..." 

"Vic?" He poked his head up over the edge of the bed, not letting go of his gun. He sighed in relief when he saw his partner, putting the gun back in the side table. 

"Of course it's me. Who else would it be?" 

"Well, an hour ago it was the Director, so you tell me." Mac climbed back into the bed and pulled up the covers. "Never mind. I just want to get some sleep." Mac closed his eyes, curled up on his side facing away from Victor. He couldn't help smiling, though, when a warm, naked body pressed up against him. He started to drift off again. 

"Mac?" 

He groaned. "What?" 

"Why Angie?" He could hear curiosity, with a tinge of pain. He rolled over to face Victor, trying to figure out how to put it into words. 

"It wasn't _who_ she was, it was _what_ she was." Mac could tell that Victor didn't understand. "My earliest memories were of my father using me as a prop in one of his cons. While I was still a kid, he disappeared one day, leaving me alone on the streets of Hong Kong. The Tangs took me in, but immediately started training me as a thief. I was a cynic before I even knew the word. LiAnn was sold to a brothel by her parents when she was a child. When old man Tang bought the building, he sent all the girls home, but he adopted LiAnn because she tried to pick his pocket. Neither of us was ever innocent." He could feel the comprehension dawning in Victor. 

"Then there's you. Ex-cop who's seen everything. None of us are innocents. OK, you're naive at times. Too trusting, but not innocent. No one in this damned organization is an innocent!" 

"But Angie was." 

"I know, it sounds crazy. But... for a while... I mean, they were like something out of a sixties sitcom, even if they were thieves. For a while I could pretend... I know... it doesn't make much sense..." 

"It makes a lot of sense, Mac. I understand." As the arms wrapped around him, pulling him in tight, Mac realized that Victor was telling the truth. He did understand. Just like his experience with the mob let him understand how Mac and LiAnn felt about the Tangs. 

"Vic?" 

"Mmm?" came the sleepy reply. 

"About stealing the diamond..." 

"It was fun, wasn't it?" Mac could almost _see_ the grin in the dark. 

Yep. Vic understood. 

* * *

Victor woke the next morning to warm sunshine streaming through the windows and the delicious feeling of someone licking his nipples. He shifted with a sigh. 

"It's about time you woke up, old man. I thought the elderly were supposed to need less sleep." 

"Watch the 'old'. I'm not _that_ much older than you." He bit back a moan as Mac's chuckle vibrated his nerve endings. Mac switched attention from one nipple to the other, while wrapping one long hand around Victor's cock. 

He kept trying to participate, but Mac was doing a very good job of keeping him distracted. Obviously the young man was in a playful mood. Finally Victor gave up on trying to show any initiative, letting Mac have his way. He moaned when he felt slick fingers start to probe him. He moaned again when they stopped. 

"What...?" 

"Why... why do you act like that feels good?" 

Victor struggled for coherence. "'Cause it _does_. God, Mac, please... Don't stop!" The fingers started moving again, while a tongue teased at his erection. It didn't take long for climax to rush in. 

Mac wrapped around him, as he labored to regain his breath, lights flashing behind his eyelids. Mac was _damn_ good at that. 

"Vic?" He opened his eyes to look at Mac. "How can that feel good?" He sighed. 

"Mac... Did you know that there's as many nerve endings in your ass as there are in your cock?" Mac shook his head, looking confused. "Properly done, anal penetration can be as enjoyable as having someone stroke your cock." He could see the disbelief on the other man's face. 

"Michael..." He could see the flinch on Mac's face. "When he penetrated you, what sort of preparation did he use?" Silent confusion. "You stretch me before penetration. Did he do that for you?" Head shake. "Did he use lubrication?" Another head shake. Victor sat up, suddenly. 

"You mean he just went in dry!?" Nod. Victor felt the rage spread. "Christ, Mac. Did sex with him ever _not_ leave you ripped and bleeding?" Head shake. 

"Oh God! No wonder you don't understand. You've never had the _right_ kind of experience." 

"Show me?" Victor looked over, shocked. Mac had never offered before. 

"Mac... we don't _have_ to... I don't _need_ to..." 

"Please. I've been wondering... You _look_ like you enjoy it..." 

"Because I _do_!" 

"And I want to see _why_. Please?" 

Victor sighed. It _was_ something he wanted, but Mac wasn't really ready, no matter what he might say. He could feel the tension in the lean body. But maybe they could work up to it. 

"How about just fingers, for now?" Mac seemed relieved, disappointed and tense, all at the same time. "Relax. Nothing you don't want, just like I promised before. Now, why don't you roll onto your back and try to relax." 

Mac did roll over, but tension was written all over him. Victor knew that if Mac _didn't_ relax, he wouldn't be _able_ to enjoy it. He got out of the bed and went into the bathroom to grab a bottle of baby oil. Climbing back into the bed, and poured some into the palm of his hand. 

"Mac, I'm just going to give you a massage. It'll help you relax." 

"You make a _damn_ good masseuse." The humor in the tone was promising. 

"Oh, I have _lots_ of talents." 

He started with the feet, moving his way up, keeping his touch firm, but soft, not trying to arouse. He stopped at the top of the thighs, not approaching the groin, then started from the neck and worked his way back down. Mac was soon purring under the attention. 

"Roll over so I can take care of your back." 

Mac rolled over, but some of the tension had returned. He had expected that. Again he worked the legs, up to just below the curve of the ass, then moved up to the base of the neck. He was straddling Mac, but propped himself up high enough that his own genitals wouldn't brush against the body beneath him. 

This time he didn't stop when he reached Mac's ass. Instead, he continued to massage, using firm, but impersonal strokes. Gradually he slowed them until they were more light caresses. He let his hand drift closer and closer to the crevasse between the cheeks. Mac didn't seem to notice, been half-asleep again. Victor rubbed his thumb, lightly, up and down the crevasse until Mac was squirming. 

"Does that feel good?" A moan was the only answer, so he increased the pressure slightly, still not doing more than rub across the sensitive anus. When he pulled his hands away, Mac made a noise of protest. 

"Easy. I'm just getting some more oil on my hands." He made sure that his hand was well coated before he went back to the stroking motion. This time, though, he used even more pressure, and rubbed his index finger in a small circle around Mac's anus. 

"Mac, I'm going to slip one finger in. It won't hurt." Mac tensed slightly, but nodded. Victor kept up the circling motion, pressing harder with each pass, until the tip of his finger slipped past the tight muscle. Victor held still until Mac realized what had happened. As he realized there was no pain, Mac relaxed. Victor started moving the finger, ever so slightly, in a thrusting motion. Mac moaned. 

When he felt Mac trying to move back against the finger, Victor started moving it in a circle, loosening the anal muscles. Once he was happy with the slackness, he added a second finger, keeping to the same motion. He couldn't tell if Mac had noticed the addition. 

He crooked the fingers, searching, until Mac bucked under him. Bingo! 

"Oh God!" 

"That's your prostate. Remember how good I said it makes you feel? Am I right?" Mac didn't answer. He was too busy thrashing around at the sensation. 

"Mac, roll over again." Mac protested as the fingers slipped free, but turned over, obediently. His cock was fully erect and leaking. Victor slipped his fingers back into Mac's ass, then bent his head to take in Mac's cock. By this time, the young man had lost all semblance of coherence. 

Victor knew that Mac wouldn't last long, so he set himself to bringing the other man to orgasm. When Mac froze, arching up off of the bed, he was yelling Victor's name. Victor moved to pull Mac into his arms, nuzzling at his face and neck. 

"Well?" 

"That was... incredible. It was..." Mac stopped, obviously unable to find the words. 

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" 

Mac snorted. "You don't have to be so damned modest about it." 

Victor just grinned. "C'mon. It's almost time to get going, and we both need a shower." 

* * *

Mac was whistling as he got out of the sports car. It had been a great day. They'd stopped a gang that had developed a new, and highly-addictive drug. Then, when they'd reported back to the Director, he had learned that Dobrinsky had gotten food poisoning, and would be off for a week. Now, the day was done, he was home with dinner from his favorite Hong Kong style restaurant. From the pickup truck parked a few spots down, it looked like Vic was already upstairs. Life was good. 

He was headed for the stairwell when three men came out of the shadows. Somehow, he didn't think they were there just to say 'Hi'. Maybe it was the ski masks rolled down over their faces. 

"Let me guess," he quipped as he carefully placed the takeout bag on top of the car next to him. "You're in town for a Thugs-R-Us convention." 

The only response was an attack, coming from three directions simultaneously. Mac lashed out with a snap-kick, striking the man on his left in the solar plexus, dropping him to the ground immediately. Without stopping, he spun to strike at the second man. 

Unfortunately, he wasn't able to move fast enough to stop the blow from the third man from impacting with the back of his head. As he went down, the first kick hit him in the ribs. Thankfully, everything quickly went black after that. 

* * *

Victor was putting one of his tapes into Mac's ridiculously over-powered sound system when he heard the thump against the apartment door. He froze, pulling his gun from it's holster. Mac was late, and he was starting to get a little worried. 

He went to the door, and peered out through the peep-hole. Nothing. He eased the door open, gun ready and safety off. What he saw shocked him. 

"Mac!?" 

* * *

Mac slowly swam back to consciousness. He could hear voices. 

"How is he, doc?" Victor. God, he loved that voice. 

"Two broken ribs, and three cracked. Sprained wrist. Massive bruising, but no internal bleeding. Probably concussed." Ouch. Sounded like someone got put through the wringer. Oh, yeah. _He_ was the one who'd been put through the wringer. 

"But he's going to be all right, isn't he?" LiAnn. You'd almost think she was worried about him. 

"Yes. He just needs time to rest and recuperate." That was a relief. 

"Mac. Wake up." The Director. Of course she'd be there. He managed to pull his eyelids open. They felt like they were made out of lead. 

"Mac. Who attacked you? Did you see them?" 

Answering was difficult, but he managed. "Three men. Waiting. In the garage." 

"Describe them." 

"Black." 

"Negro?" 

"No. Black pants. Black shirts. Black jackets. Black gloves. Black masks. Black." 

"Can you give me something a _little_ more useful?" She sounded exasperated. 

"Shorter. Couple inches. Well built. Like Vic? Similar." He thought about it for a moment. "One. Blue eyes. Others... brown. One oriental? The eyes. I think..." 

Suddenly, staying awake required too much effort, and he drifted away again. 

* * *

"Mac? Mac!" The doctor pulled the Director away, ignoring the glare she aimed at him. 

"You'll have to leave now. We'll keep him overnight for observation, but he should be able to go home tomorrow." With that, he firmly pushed them from the room. 

Out in the hallway, the Director nodded at the agency stationed outside the hospital room. "Well, I'd say we now _know_ that Mac is the target. LiAnn, start pulling the records on every case Mac has worked on. Look for anyone who might match the descriptions Mac gave." She paused. "Pull Mac's prison records too. See if anyone with a grudge from Hong Kong has been released recently. Victor, work with the forensics team checking the parking garage. When Mac goes home tomorrow, stick to him like glue. I have no intention of loosing any more agents this year. Love was bad enough. Now _move_." 

They moved. 

* * *

Late that night, the window to Mac's hospital room opened, and a figure stepped through. If anyone had seen, they would have been amazed, since the room was on the fifth floor, and the windows weren't supposed to be able to open. 

The figure stepped to the bedside and looked down at the sleeping man. The mouth curved into a cruel smile, and a hand reached out to caress the bruised face. Then the intruder turned, and went back out the window, sealing it again. Only one word had been spoken. 

"Soon."

Choices 

Mac took a deep breath, releasing tension with it, and moved into the opening moves of the kata. Move flowed into move, block and counter, and his mind emptied as he flowed around the room, until he had reached peace at the completion of the exercise. 

But then he stepped out of the final position and winced. He still hurt from the beating he had taken, and the events since then hadn't helped. He felt... unsettled. Like he was facing disaster. Or facing a choice. 

Choices. 

Like hanging from a burning rope, terrified that he would drop. Even more terrified that the antenna that Vic was hanging from would give way, Waiting for LiAnn to choose who to save. 

When she chose to save Vic, he hadn't been sure _what_ to feel. Relief that Vic was safe? Anger that LiAnn had made her choice, and it wasn't him? Or just fear as the rope gave way? As he grabbed for the brick face of the building, he could hear Vic calling his name. When he pulled himself up onto the roof, the tear tracks on Vic's face had shocked him 

LiAnn had practically jumped through hoops, trying to make it up to him later. He hadn't done much to reassure her. Like he'd said, you can't unmake a choice. He was more concerned about Vic, though he tried not to let it show. The tough ex-cop had clung to him in silence that night. Then they'd been thrust into a new assignment before they could really deal with what had happened. 

And what an assignment. Guarding a drunk who wasn't a drunk. Harry had played them all for patsies, including the Director. Assassin delivery boys, feuding sets of children, neither batch terrible bright, a crime lord's legacy, a bomb, and LiAnn having to chose who to save. Again. 

Only _this_ time, she _hadn't_ chosen. She'd turned her back on the two gunmen, trusting her partners to save her. If they hadn't both had backup guns that Harry _hadn't_ know about... She'd taken a terrible chance. Both she and the Director had said something about there always being a third door, whatever _that_ meant. 

And no sooner was that done, one of Vic's old choices had come back to haunt him, and Mac hadn't been able to be there to help him. Instead, he'd had to guard a ditzy fur-coat designer at his own apartment. A ditzy designer who was dating one of the Cleaners, the Agency's top assassins. She'd drugged him and handcuffed him to the bed with a message written in red on his _feet_ , for crying out load. Even worse than that was having the Director show up to let him look. As far as he could tell (and he wasn't trying very hard), all she'd been wearing was that fur coat, stockings and high-heeled shoes. 

It was weird, but he'd never known how Vic got dragged into the Agency. Turned out that he'd been in the same boat as Mac. They'd both been forced into a choice by their "families"—the Tangs for Mac and the police for Vic. They'd both ended up in jail as a result of that choice—Vic because he'd been framed by his "family". They'd both been offered a choice by the Director to join the Agency or else—else Mac would be released onto the streets of Hong Kong where he'd die, and Vic would _stay_ in jail. They'd both chosen the Agency, 

He still wasn't sure why _LiAnn_ had joined the Agency, though. 

But Vic's choice had come after him, and had nearly gotten him killed. Of course, that wasn't as bad as getting shot by a gang of _clowns_ , but still... He'd woke Mac with nightmares the night before. He was brooding and moody. Mac had found a copy of a picture of Vic in uniform (good thing he lost the mustache) on the coffee table that morning. Someone—probably Vic—had drawn a clown's face on it. A sad clown. Mac was worried sick, but he didn't know what to do about it. 

Mac headed for the Agency showers. This time of the morning the place was empty, so he didn't have to worry about anyone else turning on a shower or flushing a toilet. As a result, he could turn the water on as hot as he liked. He waited while the heat relaxed sore muscles. A glance down showed the last bruises fading from his body. He still kept his ribs taped, but he was almost healed. 

Choices. 

There _was_ a choice that he'd been thinking about. One that scared him, thrilled him, made him flush with heat. A choice that had been a while in the making. A choice he thought he was finally ready to make. 

Tonight. 

* * *

Victor rolled over in the bed and looked at the clock. His attempt at a nap had been a dismal failure. Insomnia was making his life hell. 

Closing his eyes just led to a steady stream of nightmarish images. Mac lying in the hallway outside the apartment, beaten to within an inch of his life. Mac in that hospital bed. Mac hanging from that burning rope. Mac falling to his death, even though _that_ hadn't happened. Not to mention those _damned_ clowns! 

Add to that his run-in with his old copy buddies/betrayers, and it was obviously leading to a lot of sleepless nights. He'd even considered taking sleeping pills, except that Mac's attackers were still on the loose. Not to mention whoever had cut through the hospital room window. They wouldn't even have known about _that_ if Dobrinsky hadn't leaned against it, sending the glass plummeting to the ground. Thank God that no one had been underneath the window. 

Mac would be home soon, once he finished the errands that the Director had sent him on. With attacks at both apartments, it hadn't really mattered where they slept. They didn't even _have_ to buddy up any more, but they did, automatically, when they weren't playing bodyguard to someone. They switched back and forth between apartments on a whim. Tonight, they were staying at Victor's place, because he wanted his own kitchen. He planned on cooking dinner for Mac. His last attempt, while they were guarding Harry, had been a disaster, but that was because Mac's kitchen was woefully under-stocked. 

Well, he might as well get started, rather than lie here and brood. Victor rolled out of bed and headed for the kitchen. 

* * *

Mac opened the apartment door and stopped, letting it swing shut behind him. The air was filled with the scent of... curry? It smelled pretty damn good, too. He locked the door behind him, then moved further into the apartment. The dining table was laid out with linen and fine china. Vic was lighting the candles. 

"Great! You're just in time." 

He stepped in close and pulled Mac into a deep kiss. When he stepped away again, Mac had to stiffen his knees to keep them from buckling. Vic was too damn good at that. Vic brushed a finger across Mac's lips, and he couldn't stop them from parting. Couldn't stop his tongue from darting out to tickle the finger. 

"He was wrong," came a whisper. 

"Huh?" Thinking was not really a priority when all the blood had rushed to the groin. 

"Harry. He called LiAnn 'the exotic beauty with lips that could change weather patterns'. That doesn't describe her, it described _you_." 

Mac was embarrassed to realize that he was blushing. Then Vic stepped away with a grin. 

"Anyway, dinner is ready, so sit!" 

* * *

Mac was surprised at how good dinner was. Curry chicken, saffron rice with raisins, a drink made with yogurt instead of wine or water. It was completely unlike what he usually ate, but it was _good_. Plates were cleaned, compliments were made, the disaster of a kitchen was cleaned. Low music played on the stereo providing a pleasant backdrop. 

Nothing was said, but they moved as one towards the bedroom. Mac stripped Victor first. The dress shirt in that ridiculous shade of green came off first, followed quickly by his undershirt. Then his jeans were undone, and slipped down over his hips. Mac knelt to remove them, taking Vic's shoes and socks off with them. He nuzzled at Vic's cock for a moment, amazed at how natural it felt now. Back when he was in prison he'd had to fight to keep from being _made_ to do this, but here he was, eager to do it. Maybe that was the difference. It was his _choice_ now. 

Vic pulled him to his feet and proceeded to kiss him senseless. Then he pulled at Mac's clothing. Silk shirt and dress pants were removed from his body, and tossed in a corner. He knew he'd have to take them to the dry-cleaners to get the wrinkles out, but he really didn't care right at that moment. 

The bed had been freshly made with crisp, clean linens, and the covers had been folded back in anticipation. Mac shifted, enjoying the contrast between the cool sheets beneath him and the warm body above. He gave into the sensations, not caring if half the Agency was watching them. They'd taken to sweeping both their apartments for bugs and cameras, especially the bedrooms and bathrooms, but just because they'd found some of them, that didn't mean they'd found them _all_. 

But that didn't matter. He was too busy memorizing Vic's body with his hands again. Every inch was touched and caressed. Mac knew that no matter what he said, he had fallen hard for Vic. All pretenses otherwise were to protect himself against the inevitable pain when Vic changed his mind. He was sure that if LiAnn beckoned, Vic would go back to her in a flash. He said he wouldn't, that Mac was the one he loved, but still... 

But that didn't really matter right now. He'd take what he could get. What mattered now were choices. Mac rolled them both over and reached for the lube sitting on the bedside table. He took Vic's hand and poured some into it. Vic smiled as he reached out to coat Mac's cock, but the younger man fended him off. Instead, he landed back on the mattress beside Vic and rolled onto his stomach, pillowing his head on his forearms. 

Vic hesitated. "Are you sure about this Mac?" 

Mac nodded. "I'm sure. I want to. Just... go slow, okay?" 

Vic leaned over and kissed his partner's shoulder blade. "Slow and gentle. Nothing but pleasure," he promised. 

Mac tensed a little as the slick fingers teased at him, but he relaxed, remembering how much he'd enjoyed having Vic's fingers in him before. One finger, then two. That was familiar. Three fingers, though, brought on a moment of pain, and he tensed up, but Vic was patient, stroking his ass cheeks and gently sliding his fingers so that they rubbed his prostate, until he was loose and relaxed and moaning. 

Then the fingers were gone, and he felt the peculiar sensation of cool air inside of him. The space was quickly replaced, though, with something large and solid, hot and slick. He groaned and shifted, then froze as he realized what it must be. He reached back, feeling his way with his hands, to find that Vic's cock was already a couple inches inside of him. They held still for a moment, while Mac discovered that it didn't hurt. Then he pushed back, and Vic slipped in a little further. 

Inch by inch they moved, until Mac could feel Vic's balls against the curve of his ass. For long moments they held there, Vic with his arms wrapped around Mac, until neither could hold still any more. Vic started to thrust, slow and gentle, like he had promised. The slight friction not stopped by the lube, caused a warmth that spread through Mac' mid-section. Then there was the electric shock of his prostate being touched. 

Mac pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, wanting to get better leverage, and starting pushing backwards into the thrusts. A slick hand gripped his cock, drawing a shout from him. They were moving faster, now. 

"Vic! I can't hold on any longer!" His muscles trembled with the strain of trying to hold back. The hand on his cock picked up the tempo. 

"Then come for me, Mac. Fill my hand up. Come for me, love." 

A tongue licked the sweat from his neck, and Mac arched and shuddered, calling out Vic's name. He could feel his muscles spasming around Vic's cock, buried deep inside of him, and felt a flood of warmth inside. Vic had come too. This was nothing like he'd ever felt before. Like fire rushing through him, burning but not harming. 

When Vic pulled out, Mac couldn't suppress a moan of disappointment. Vic pulled him into a tight embrace. 

"Did you enjoy?" There was a small tone of anxiety in the other man's voice. 

"Mmmmm..." Mac replied, satisfaction plain. Maybe they were right. Maybe you _did_ just need the right partner. 

As he drifted to sleep, he heard Vic murmur against his forehead. 

"Love you." 

But he was asleep before he could respond. 

* * *

"See! I told you." 

LiAnn pushed back from the table and the listening equipment there. When Jackie had taunted her, claiming that Mac and Victor were lovers, she'd refused to believe it. But Jackie had claimed that she'd gotten an earful when the Director had told her to run surveillance on Mac, and had offered to prove it. She'd accepted, not expecting it to be true. 

"So they're lovers. So what?" 

Even to her own ears, she sounded defensive. Jackie just smirked, and she had to fight the urge to wipe the expression off the blonde's face. 

Okay, so she was still a little confused about how she felt about the guys. After all, she'd worked like hell to keep Mac from marrying that blonde bitch with the nuclear grenade. But then she'd run to save Victor when she'd had to choose who to rescue first. 

She was still trying to figure things out, and she'd foolishly thought that the guys would wait until _she_ had decided. The fact that neither seemed to date a woman more than once, and even seemed to try to _avoid_ women, except for her, had just reinforced that assumption. Finding out that they were... together. That changed... everything. 

Distracted, she left the room, not bothering to notice the appreciative once over that her "partner" gave her as she left. 

Once she was gone, Jackie put the earphones back on and leaned back in her chair. After all, they sometimes went for a second round later. 

* * *

In another room, at another table, a man pushed back from a video screen. On it, in fuzzy black and white, two men lay on a bed, wrapped around each other so tightly that the watcher couldn't tell where one ended and the other began, fast asleep. He picked up his glass and drained it. The glass impacted the wall, hard, spraying the area with tiny shards. 

"You're _mine_ , Mac Ramsey, and I keep what is _mine_." 

* * *

**Family**

Mac watched with a grin as Vic continued to shower advice on his little sister. Alice—or Allegra, as she preferred to be called—took it all in stride, just rolling her eyes as her brother continued to warn her. 

"And if there's any problems, _call_ me. I'll be there as fast as a plane can get me there." 

"Give me a break, Moose. I'm quite good at taking care of myself, you know." 

"Right. That's why you were delivering a bomb." 

"I didn't _know_ it was a bomb!" 

"No, but you were at Pinball Couriers because you overheard us talking about them and bombings at the same time. Put two and two together, Alice." 

"Allegra!" 

"Whatever." 

Luckily, Alice's flight was called at that moment, so Alice hugged her brother, then hugged Mac. 

"Take care of him," she whispered. 

"I do my best," Mac whispered back. He and Vic had taken her out to dinner before the flight and it hadn't taken her more than a couple of minutes to figure out what was up between her brother and his partner. She hadn't even blinked at finding out that her big brother was bi, just said it was cool with her. 

The both waved, cheerily, as she boarded the plane, then turned to head for Vic's truck. Mac slung an arm around his partner's tense shoulders. 

"Cheer up, Moose," he said, ignoring the muttered 'Don't call me Moose'. "She'll be fine. This Leadership Corps has an excellent reputation. I checked." 

Vic looked a little surprised at that. "I know," he said. "It's just... I don't like the Agency taking such an interest in her." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, the Director was going on about how 'promising' she was, using aliases at such an early age, and all." 

Mac frowned for a moment. "You think she plans on recruiting Allegra—sorry, Alice—in a few years?" 

"Yeah. I mean, I don't _like_ the Agency. It uses assassins. It uses blackmail to get its agents to work for them. Even when it does good, it still scares me, and I don't want them anywhere _near_ my little sister." 

"I know what you mean. Well, I'm sure that between us, when the time comes, we'll be able to figure out a way of preventing it." 

Vic smiled at that. "C'mon. Let's get going. I have been going nuts, not being able to be with you while Alice was around. Not to mention having to watch her throw herself at you at every opportunity." 

"Hey, she only did it once. Besides, she already figured out that we were sleeping together." 

"She did?" Vic stopped dead, turning a deep red. Mac just grinned and dragged him towards the truck. 

* * *

Despite Victor's comments, they ended up spending a very quiet evening. Victor was watching the late news—something he did almost religiously. Mac was lying on the sofa, his head on Victor's lap, reading a book in Chinese. Victor didn't know what it was about, and he was almost afraid to ask. After all, Mac might _tell_ him. But, all in all, the scene was positively _domestic_. 

Mac shifted against his thigh, then put the book down. 

"Vic." 

"Hmm?" 

"I was wondering..." 

"Yeah?" Victor turned his attention to Mac. The younger man sounded... uncertain. 

"I was talking to Alleg... Alice while you were checking on her flight. She said something about you leaving home real young. She said it had something to do with your dad. What was it? I mean, you don't have to tell me anything, if I'm out of line. I don't exactly have the greatest father-son relationship in the world, but I wondered... Never mind. It's none of my business." 

Victor lay a finger of Mac's lips to stop the flow of babble. "I don't mind. We just didn't get along. I wasn't the son he wanted. He wanted a doctor, or a lawyer—someone he could show off to the neighbors. I wanted to be a cop, which _wasn't_ something he considered brag-worthy. We fought a lot. When I was eighteen, I told him I'd been accepted at the police academy, he took a swing at me. Almost broke my jaw. I walked out, and never went back. The only time I ever heard from him after that was when I got put on trial. He wrote a letter to tell me what a dismal failure I was, and how disappointed he was in me, and saying he no longer _had_ two sons, just one." 

"Just one? You have a brother?" 

"Yeah. He's a couple years younger than me. Jonathon. He's a sleaze-bag corporate lawyer. Just the sort of son that dad wanted. Anyway, Alice was only about two when I left home. Mom sent me letters and pictures, so that I could stay in touch. I wrote Alice a lot, and whenever dad was out of town on business and Jonathon wasn't around, I'd take Alice out for the day. Just because dad and I didn't get along, didn't mean I didn't want to be part of my sister's life. That ended when I went to jail. I hadn't seen her since." 

"Well, now that she knows what you've been up to, you can keep in touch again." 

"I know. I just wish she were going to be... closer." 

Mac rubbed his cheek against Victor's leg. "C'mon," he said. "It's late, and we need to get to work in the morning. Bed-time for Moose." 

"Don't call me 'Moose'." But Victor was smiling as he said it. 

* * *

Mac rolled over, and off the bed. 

"Hey, what the..." He sat up on the floor, sputtering, then froze. This wasn't his bedroom. It wasn't Vic's bedroom. It was... 

Hong Kong Prison. His old cell. 

"Wake up Ramsey. Time to go." 

Mac looked up at the shadowy figure in the guard's uniform. "Go? Go where?" 

"Where do all convicted criminals go?" 

Mac turned around, slowly. Behind him was an electric chair. He whirled around to find himself back in that nut case's kangaroo court. 

"You have been found guilty of crimes against society, and the penalty is... death." 

The guards grabbed his arms and dragged him towards the waiting chair. 

"No. This isn't happening. It's just a dream. It's just a dream," Mac repeated to himself. 

"Excuse me." 

Mac looked to see the Director. "Thank God!" 

"You don't think you can stop us, do you?" 

The Director frowned. "Why would I stop you? He's just a criminal, after all. And a rather incompetent one, too. And as a agent, he is a dismal failure." 

"I left the family because of him, and look where it got me." LiAnn? 

"And, like, he's just so _lame_." Jackie? 

"Wait a second," he protested. "They're going to _kill_ me. You can't let that happen!" 

"C'mon, Ace. Take it like a man." Dobrinsky. 

"You don't think the Agency cares, do you? You're just a jackanape agent." The Cleaners. 

Mac's head whipped around, but everyone was ignoring him. No friendly faces, until a figure stepped out of the shadows. Mac sighed in relief. 

"Vic! You gotta help me!" 

"Why should I? C'mon, Mac. You've been using me for all these months, after all. Good old Vic. Great in bed, but that's all I want." 

"That's not true! I love you!" 

"You never said so before, so why should I believe you now?" 

"Because it's true!" 

"No it isn't. 'The sex is great, I can't deny that. But don't try to get serious, cause we both know it won't last.' Isn't that what you told me? No. I need someone who _really_ loves me. Who'll commit to me. Someone who'll be there for the long run." 

"I'll be there," Mac whispered, his face crumpling. 

Vic stepped back, and LiAnn and Jackie immediately latched onto him. He slung his arms around the shoulders of the girls and watched, expressionless, as the guards strapped Mac into the chair. 

"This isn't happening. It's just a dream," Mac told himself. "This isn't happening. It's just a dream. This isn't happening. It's just a dream." 

He was still repeating the phrase when they pulled the lever. 

* * *

  


February 1998  
[email removed]   
For those unfamiliar with my series, Drowning Sorrows builds around the series John Woo's Once a Thief, and the growing relationship between Victor Mansfield and Mac Ramsey. At the end of the TV series, they were apparently killed in an explosion. In _my_ world, they took the chance to leave the country, heading for Europe, where they made a life for themselves as security experts... and thieves.   
Always a Thief picks up three years later, when trouble inside the Agency forces the Director to call them in for help, finally admitting that she knew they were still alive. Also drawn in to the trouble is Klaus von dem Eberbach, formerly a Major in NATO Intelligence, now in Interpol. People familiar with the japanese comic (manga) series 'From Eroica With Love' will recognize Klaus.   
Revenge of the Bolsheviks is the newest book in the Drowning Sorrows series. A mysterious organization kidnaps Mac and the Earl Dorian Red Gloria (also known as the thief Eroica). What are they up to? Starts about six months after the end of Always A Thief.   
There is also a couple of side stories that falls between Drowning Sorrows and Always a Thief, and I'm sure that there will be more to come.   
---


	2. Drowning Sorrows 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with my series, Drowning Sorrows builds around the series John Woo's Once a Thief, and the growing relationship between Victor Mansfield and Mac Ramsey. At the end of the TV series, they were apparently killed in an explosion. In my world, they took the chance to leave the country, heading for Europe, where they made a life for themselves as security experts... and thieves. Always a Thief picks up three years later, when trouble inside the Agency forces the Director to call them in for help, finally admitting that she knew they were still alive. Also drawn in to the trouble is Klaus von dem Eberbach, formerly a Major in NATO Intelligence, now in Interpol. People familiar with the japanese comic (manga) series 'From Eroica With Love' will recognize Klaus. Revenge of the Bolsheviks is the newest book in the Drowning Sorrows series. A mysterious organization kidnaps Mac and the Earl Dorian Red Gloria (also known as the thief Eroica). What are they up to? Starts about six months after the end of Always A Thief. There is also a couple of side stories that falls between Drowning Sorrows and Always a Thief, and I'm sure that there will be more to come.

  
**Part 2**

"Mac. Mac! Wake up!" Victor shook the shoulder of his thrashing bed- companion. Mac sat up suddenly, almost knocking him over. "Mac! Are you okay?" 

Mac shook his head and ran a hand over his sweat-covered face. "Yeah. Just a bad dream. Sorry I woke you." 

Victor was a little dubious. "You wanna talk about it?" 

Mac looked like he was going to say no, but then he slumped back onto the bed. Victor pulled him against his chest and cuddled him. 

"Memories." 

"Michael?" Victor could have kicked himself. He shouldn't have given in to Mac that night. Mac had enjoyed the sex, but the trauma was so deep-set... 

"No. Prison. And that fake courtroom. The chair. It was all muddled together, They were going to kill me. Everyone was there, but no one was going to save me. Not even you." 

Victor flinched. "Yes I would." 

"I know that. It was just a dream. Personal fears, and all that. But you know what really got me? The Cleaners." 

"The Cleaners? You dreamt about the _Cleaners_? Now _that's_ scary." 

Mac snorted. "They said 'You don't think the Agency cares, do you? You're just a jackanape agent.' And they're right. The Agency doesn't care. They blackmail us into working for them. They pay us next to nothing. The Director told me, once, when I complained about her having keys to my apartment: Your clothes, your life. The Agency owns it all." 

Victor shivered—it was an accurate, but uncomfortable idea—but Mac went on. "And what do we have to look forward to? Winning in the Agency Awards? That's bullshit! We've only seen two cases, so far, where people were allowed to retire, and that was because they were too nutso to be of any use. Let's face it, Vic. If we continue with the Agency, all we _really_ have to look forward to is an early grave. 

"And it's changing us. A few years ago, LiAnn wouldn't have hit me. At the couriers, when I asked you to hit me, to keep my cover intact, you hesitated. She didn't. She almost knocked me unconscious. That's _not_ the old LiAnn. It made me wonder: if I stay here, what am I going to become. I don't like that thought. I..." Mac sighed. "I want out, but they aren't going to allow it, will they?" 

Victor closed his eyes. "No. I don't think they will." 

"Sometimes I get a little scared, thinking about it." 

"Me too." 

They lay together, quiet, after that. Mac's head resting on Victor's chest, over his heart. Victor's cheek resting against the dark hair. As he drifted back to sleep, Victor felt, more than heard, a soft voice against his chest. 

"And I _do_ love you." 

But they were both asleep again before he could respond. 

* * *

When Victor opened his eyes, bright sunlight was streaming through the windows. Mac was still curled up, half-blanketing him. He looked over at the clock. 

"Shit!" he said, sitting up. "We're late. _Really_ late." 

Mac sat up, rubbing at his face. 

"Huh?" 

"We were supposed to be there more than an _hour_ ago. C'mon, partner. Move!" 

Victor tried to hurry his Mac up, but didn't have much luck. Bathroom, brush teeth. Then Mac headed for the shower. 

"We don't have _time_ ," he snapped at Mac. 

"Too bad, Vic. I'm covered in dried sweat, and I stink. I am going nowhere without a shower. You could use one too, y'know. C'mon," he said with a grin. "We can share. Save water, and all that." 

Victor knew it was a bad idea—the two of them in a shower inevitably led to...- but he let Mac coax him into it. They _did_ both smell a little strong, and they didn't have time to take separate showers, but... 

They deliberately kept the water temperature tepid, to try and wake themselves up. Victor started to use a sponge to soap himself up, but Mac took it out of his hands and started to do that for him. 

"Mac... We really don't have time for... mmm..." 

Mac was ignoring him. First Victor's back was covered in suds. Then, Mac pressed up against Victor's back and reached around to wash his front. The strokes were firm, and no-nonsense, but they left his skin tingling, and his cock was rising at attention. The erection pressed up against his backside felt like it was burning hot, compared to the water. 

When he was done, Mac pressed the sponge into Victor's hands and stepped back. 

"Your turn," he said with a grin. 

Following Mac's lead, Victor started with the young man's back and legs. Like Mac, he used business-like strokes that left the skin clean and pink. He was pleased to note that a swipe up the cleft of Mac's ass resulted in a shiver, but not the terrified tensing that might have occurred a month or two ago. 

When he was done with the back, he turned Mac around and leaned him up against the shower wall. He put fresh soap on the sponge and started on the chest. The thick, dark hair held a lather beautifully. The sponge was run along the underside of Mac's arms, and Victor leaned in to take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of soap and Mac, a heady combination. Next was the stomach, and Victor slowly dropped down to his knees. As he washed Mac's legs, he leaned forward to nuzzle the erection in front of his face, making Mac groan. 

"Damnit, Vic! Drop the damn sponge and get up here." 

Grinning, Victor stood up and pressed Mac further into the tiled wall. Kissing, they started to move against each other, already lubricated by the cool water and remaining traces of soap. Neither one of them was in the mood to drag it out, so they traded off sucking on each other's tongues, while their hips moved together in a rhythm that was very familiar now and when orgasm came, it was very, very sweet. 

They clung together under the spray, letting the water wash away all traces of their activities. Victor chuckled. 

"Now we are going to be _really_ late. The Director is going to be really pissed off. And she'll probably know _exactly_ why we're late" 

Mac snorted. "So what's she going to do? Fire us? But let's get going, Moose." 

"Don't call me Moose!" 

* * *

The Director looked up as Mac and Vic entered the room. "You're late," she snapped. "Sit down." 

They took their seats, across the table from Jackie and LiAnn. Mac was trying to cover a grin when he noticed that Jackie was smirking at them, almost leering. LiAnn looked... uncomfortable. 

The Director stood up and walked around the table, a bundle of envelopes in her hands. 

"Well, children, it looks like we have a lead on who's been trying to remove Mac from the game." 

All four agents sat up. In the weeks since the first shots were fired at Mac, no clues had been found, even _after_ he'd been put in the hospital. 

"Well?" Mac asked, a little impatient at the Director's casual posing. 

"It seems that someone you... know... was released from Hong Kong prison two months ago. He arrived in Toronto three days before the first attack, then disappeared. We have people looking for him, as well as trying to find out how he would have known you were here." 

"And this person would be..." Mac prompted, getting more than a little annoyed. 

"Kevin Chang." 

Mac gave a sharp exhalation, like he'd been gut-punched, and slumped back in his chair. The other three just looked puzzled. The Director turned to them. 

"Kevin Chang was in prison for drug smuggling. While there, he developed a taste for handsome young men, and a _dis_ taste for 'no's. According to the prison records, he tried to... attack Mac. The result was a broken arm, a broken jaw, two cracked ribs and a badly twisted knee. On his part, that is. Mac was only bruised, and was put into solitary confinement at that point—for his own protection, of course. That was about a week before I went to see him. Apparently, Chang was quite miffed about the whole business. Swore revenge, and all that." She gave an airy wave of the hand, eyes focused on the folder in front of her. 

"Anyway, here's his information. Do keep an eye out for him." 

She slid a bundle to each of the agents, then left the room. Vic opened his and winced. "Ick. 5'11", built like a professional wrestler, scar down the right cheek, tattoo of a dragon across the neck. You're not going to miss seeing _him_ walking down the street." 

"No," Mac said. "He's rather... unmistakable. And he _wasn't_ one of the men who attacked me. Doesn't fit the body types." 

"Well... maybe he hired some muscle." 

"You've got to be joking. Not his way of working. He prefers to do his dirty work himself. Enjoys it to much to give it to someone else." 

LiAnn frowned. "Well, maybe he _knew_ you'd recognize him. Whoever it was obviously wanted you to survive. Maybe he's... playing first?" 

The two men glared at her. " _That_ is a _gruesome_ idea, LiAnn." 

"But a possibility," she shrugged. 

All of them stared at the pictures for a long moment. Finally, Vic spoke up. 

"Well, let's keep our eyes peeled." 

**Agents and Agencies**

Victor looked around the room in confusion. It looked like a warehouse, though strangely decorated. Lit candles were everywhere, and a Persian rug was spread out over the concrete floor. He turned around, looking. 

"Hello," he called out. "Is anyone there?" 

"Is anyone ever there?" 

Victor spun to find a figure seated cross-legged on the rug. The voice was hoarse, obviously disguised, and the person was wearing orange robes, like some sort of mystic. It was impossible to figure out whether the person was male or female, but Victor thought male. 

He also hadn't been there two seconds ago. 

"Where am I? Why am I here?" he demanded. 

"Why are any of us here? We are not free." 

"What do you mean?" 

"We are not free. You are not free. If you are not free, then you must belong to someone. The Agency, perhaps?" 

Suddenly Victor realized that his hands were cuffed. A collar was buckled around his neck and a lead was attached to it. Following the line of the lead, he found the other end in the hands of the Director. She watched him with a smirk. 

"No," he said, pulling back. "The Agency may control me, but it doesn't _own_ me." The Director faded away. 

"You are not free. If you are not free, then you must belong to someone," the figure repeated. 

"He belongs to me." 

Mac Ramsey was now standing where the Director had been before. The end of the leash was now held in Mac's hand. For a moment, Victor rebelled against the thought. Then, suddenly, he relaxed. 

"Yes," he said to the orange-robed man. "I belong to him." The figure faded out of existence. Victor turned back to Mac, but he was disappearing too. 

"Wait!" Victor called out. 

"Don't worry, Love. I'm not going anywhere," Mac said as he disappeared. 

Victor jerked awake. He was in bed. It had just been a dream. He rolled over and curled up against Mac, the other man's chest hairs tickling his cheek. He gave a deep sigh and relaxed again. 

"Y'okay?" came a sleepy rumble from the chest under his cheek. 

"Never better," he replied, then slipped back into sleep. 

* * *

When Mac woke the next morning, he wanted to ask Victor about the dream. He'd woken in the middle of the night to find his partner shifting restlessly in his sleep, mumbling something about not belonging to the Agency. 

Unfortunately, they overslept and had to move fast, and when they'd arrived at work, they were immediately thrown into a new assignment. Moorcock, an Irish terrorist accused of murder, despite his non-violent stance, was operating in the area. He'd apparently blown up a truck carrying archaeological artifacts. The British government had sent one of their top agents, Ian Lesley, to catch the man. 

Vic had obviously been thrilled to work with the man, one of the few British agents with a 'License to Terminate'. (Who did they think they were, anyway? James bloody Bond?) Unfortunately, the man turned out to be a big disappointment, a publicity front. While he spent all his time romancing LiAnn, his 'dogsbody', Grubb, seemed to be doing all the work. 

Then things had gone terribly wrong during the plan to catch Moorcock. Vic had been driving a truck loaded with more artifacts, but Moorcock attacked it sooner than they had expected. Mac had nearly had a heart-attack when they had arrived at the truck to find that Grubb had already been there, and had locked Moorcock and Victor in the back of the truck, which was rigged to explode. They had barely gotten the two men out in time. 

That was when they had learned that Grubb was actually Lesley's superior. While he had been sent to make a public show of trying to _catch_ Moorcock, Grubb's mission was to kill the man, and he didn't care _who_ he had to kill in order to succeed. He had already killed a cop who had pulled him over for speeding. He would have killed Lesley and LiAnn, as well, for interfering if Moorcock hadn't shot him instead. 

So now the injured Grubb was being shipped back to England in disgrace, Moorcock had vanished and Lesley was gone too. LiAnn was moping and the Director was nowhere to be found, so Mac and Vic were taking a few days off. Unfortunately they were both in neckbraces, after fighting Moorcock's thugs, two ex-pro wrestlers. It was definitely putting a crimp in their sex-lives, but it gave them some time to talk, so he finally got a description of Vic's dream. 

"It was the warehouse from a few weeks ago. You know, the one we woke up in, and no one could remember how we got there?" 

"Except that other director. The one who died." 

Vic frowned. "Yeah. When I was coming to, I heard him tell the Director that it was better that she _didn't_ remember. That _he_ had left his memories alone because he was dying. Poisoned." 

"So... maybe the guy in your dream _was_ there, and you just can't remember when you're awake, so he shows up in your dreams." 

"Maybe... If so, he has something to do with the Agency at a high level. All I know was that he was telling me that I wasn't free, that I belonged to someone. The choice was between the Director and..." He shifted, not quite meeting Mac's eyes. "And you. I picked you." 

Mac felt his eyes widen slightly. Then he started to grin. "So... you belong to me, huh?" 

"Don't get ideas, Ramsey," Vic snarled, but his eyes were smiling. Mac couldn't stop grinning an the idea. 

* * *

"Well, gentlemen. Ready to get out of your collars? The physical ones, that is." Victor glared at the man. The comment was uncomfortably close to the images from his dream. 

"Would you stop babbling and just _do_ it?" Mac snapped at the agency doctor. 

"Temper, temper, sport. You two are lucky, y'know. You should pick your fights more carefully." The doctor unsnapped Victor's collar. 

"It's not like we _had_ a choice," Victor said, sighing in relief as the neckbrace came off. The damn thing had been hot, and he had developed an itch he couldn't scratch the moment it had gone on. He noticed, with some amusement, that Mac had started scratching the same spot on _his_ neck as soon as _his_ neckbrace had come off. 

"Sheesh," Mac said as they headed out the door. "If that guy wasn't white, I'd think he was Dobrinsky's twin brother." 

"Not to mention the fact that he's twenty years too old." 

"Details, details. So. What do you want to do?" The braces were off, but they weren't back on the job until the next day, so they quickly made their escape. Once outside, they both took deep breaths of the chilly fall air. 

"I don't know. You choose." 

"Ummm..." 

* * *

Victor wondered if maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to let Mac choose their afternoon's activities. He liked skating—hockey skating, that is—but in-line skates were a different matter. On a rink, you didn't have cracks and bulges in the ice, and the skates didn't have those damn rubber brake thingies. As a result, he had provided Mac with great amounts of amusement, and himself with great numbers of bruises. He frowned up at his partner from his current position, sitting in the middle of the bike path at the park. 

"Laugh all you like, Ramsey. Just remember, if it's too bruised, you won't get anywhere near it tonight." 

Somehow, the comment just made Mac laugh louder. He was leaning over to help Victor up, when Victor heard the distinctive sound of a bullet whizzing by. Grabbing the out-stretched hand, he pulled Mac to the ground, covering him and pulling his gun at the same time. 

"What the hell? Vic, this really isn't a good time or place for this sort of..." 

"Shh..." he said, scanning the crowd. What direction had the shot come from? This was too much like when Bingo tried to shoot him at the beach. The left. A cluster of trees. There! 

"Over there," he said, pointing. "It's Chang." Hard to mistake him. "Are you armed?" 

"Of course," Mac replied, pulling his favorite gun out from under his jacket. "You see, I have this really paranoid partner, and he's rubbing off on me. I'll circle around. Cover me." 

"Wait! Mac!" But Mac was already gone. Victor started fumbling with the skate buckles. "How the hell am I supposed to cover anyone with these damn things on?" 

Finally the skates were off, and he was ducking through the thin crowd in his stocking feet. As he neared the cluster of trees, he could see Chang moving. Moving towards... Mac! 

Victor realized, in a flash, what his partner was doing. He was luring Chang away from the park, and the people there, trusting Victor to save him. Victor put on a burst of speed. He was _not_ going to let Mac down. 

Mac was already out of the park, keeping obstacles between him and Chang. Luckily, the other man was not terribly fast or agile—not surprising considering his build. Mac was heading down towards the water and the boathouse, from what Victor could see. He started moving parallel to the two men, waiting for his chance at a clear shot. 

Chang fired on Mac several more times before they had reached the boathouse, but either he was a lousy shot, or he was toying with Mac, because he missed wide each time. Victor was willing to bet on the lousy shot, since the man also seemed pretty stupid. All his focus was on Mac. Even though he had seen him with Victor, the man hadn't even glanced around _once_ to see if anyone was tracking _him_. 

Victor breathed a sigh of relief when Mac ducked into the boathouse. There would be better cover inside, considering the size of the building, and more opportunities for the two of them to ambush Chang. He headed for a different entrance than the one the other two men had used. 

Through the door, he paused a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. He could hear Mac and Chang moving, but the echoes made it difficult to tell _where_ the sounds were coming from. He started moving, trying to track the louder noises, knowing that Mac could move a _lot_ quieter than Chang. 

He had almost made a complete circuit of the boathouse before he saw movement. Holding his gun at the ready, he crept up on the shadowy figure. 

It was Chang. He couldn't see what the other man was watching, but chances are it was Mac. Victor was moving forward, planning on knocking Chang out. Suddenly, the man grinned—a very unpleasant expression—and his gun swung to point into the corner of the room. Victor couldn't tell if Mac was actually _there_ , but he wasn't about to take chances. 

"Mac! Down!" he yelled, and fired three times. 

The sound of the shots, in the enclosed space, were deafening. Chang jerked, then fell, not having had the chance to fire. Gun still ready, Victor moved to check the man. 

He was dead. Two of the shots had hit him in the heart. The third had blown half his head away. Victor did not play around when his lover's life was at stake. 

"Vic! We better get out of here before someone calls the cops!" 

Victor ignored the comment, intent on a more important issue. "Are you okay?" 

"Yes. Chang couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. Now, let's go! The Director will be _really_ pissed if she has to bail us out of jail." 

Victor let Mac pull him towards the door. Chang was dead, and there were sirens heading their way. No reason for them to stay. 

* * *

Mac unlocked the door to his apartment, and motioned Vic through. They had called in the incident to the Agency, which would make sure that the police did not link the shooting back to them or the Agency. They might even be able to find Vic's rentals skates and return them to the kiosk. He turned to set the locks behind him when he felt a body push him up against the door. 

"Y'know, I keep forgetting just how much gun-fights turn you on, Vic," he said with a grin. 

Vic pulled away, long enough to turn him around so that his back was to the door. Then he was diving in for some serious hickey action. "Could have lost you, today," he growled around a mouthful of Mac's neck. "If you hadn't bent down, when Chang shot..." 

Mac grabbed Vic's face with both hands and dragged it into a position better suited for kissing. When their lips separated, they were both panting. 

"I'm _fine_. None of the bullets touched me. Now, how about we go to bed, and I'll show you just _how_ fine I am." 

Vic's face brightened at the thought, and he went willingly as Mac tugged him towards the bedroom. The bed wasn't _really_ necessary, but it would certainly be more comfortable. 

In the bedroom, Mac pulled away. "Strip," he ordered. 

One of these days, he was going to have to get a video camera. Film would be awfully risky, but he just _had_ to have one of Vic's strip routines on tape. For those nights when they were on separate assignments, of course. Vic could have made a fortune in the strip club business. 

Mac didn't try to draw out his own disrobing. His clothes flew through the air. Grabbing Vic, he tossed the man onto the bed, quickly following him. Vic grabbed him, and they tumbled back and forth, until Mac took advantage of his slight edge in size and pinned his lover to the bed. Vic looked up at him, flushed and out of breath, but also laughing. The worry lines that had been all over his face since Chang had taken his first shots had disappeared, and his eyes glowed. 

Suddenly, Mac felt a melting inside of him. A year ago, if you had told him he was going to be involved with another man, he would have laughed. Or attacked. But now... Vic was quickly becoming all he wanted in life. He just wasn't sure that he could tell the other man. Maybe someday. Soon. After all, he trusted the man with his life and his body. Maybe he _could_ trust him with his heart as well. 

But in the meantime. He stretched out on top of Vic, only holding enough of his weight on his elbows to keep from completely squishing the man, and bent his head to take advantage of the conveniently open mouth. He took his time, exploring every nook and cranny. Then he moved his way down, making detours to be sure that the nipples hadn't changed during his absence. He drew back a moment to admire how they stood out from the smooth chest, so unlike his own hair-covered chest. 

The navel was next, causing more giggles. Until Vic, he had never thought that a man could giggle appealingly, but Vic did. 

Finally, he reached his prize. He slung Vic's legs over his shoulders, gripping the man's hips to keep him from thrusting as Mac swallowed his cock. Up and down, reveling in the taste and sound of his lover. He reached out blindly with one hand, and a tube of lubricant was dropped into it. Simultaneously, he pressed his face down until Vic's pubic hairs were tickling his nose, and slid two fingers into the man's ass. Vic spasmed, then pulsed his seed down Mac's throat with a full-bodied cry. 

Mac pulled back a little, and coated his own erection with the rest of the lube, Moving back up Vic's body, keeping the legs hooked over his shoulders, he pressed into Vic, while leaning in for a kiss. Completely limp from his own orgasm, Vic could do nothing but moan as Mac started to thrust. 

Mac looked down at his lover. The expression of tenderness he saw there made him feel like his world was finally falling into place. He gasped, and froze, buried inside Vic as deep as he could go. For a moment he thought he could feel each spurt as it traveled deeper and deeper into the other man, never to come out again. 

Then he collapsed. 

* * *

When Mac woke, he was cuddled up against Vic, his cheek pressed to the other man's chest, listening to the steady heartbeat. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" 

"I'm _fine_ ," he reassured the man, again. "And now I have one less enemy lurking in my past." 

"Do you think this is over?" 

Mac paused, then finally said, "No. Chang shouldn't have got out of jail so soon. Someone had to have arranged it. Someone with a lot of power. And he's far too dumb to have managed to track me to Toronto. No. I think someone else is behind this." 

Vic sighed. "That's kinda what I figured too. Still, whoever it is, they're not likely to make another attempt too soon. 

"Maybe." 

* * *

"The death of Kevin Chang has been chalked up to gang warfare," the Director was saying as she watched her agents. Victor thought she looked very self satisfied, but he wasn't sure if it was because Chang was dead, or that the death was not linked to the Agency, or if it had something to do with the fact that she'd been missing for several days. Victor had some suspicions about that, since he'd been told she was out of the country, since she'd disappeared the same time as Lesley had headed back to England. However, he valued his life, so he wasn't going to suggest that anywhere where LiAnn might hear him. 

"However, we still don't know who got him out of jail, or how he ended up in Toronto, so keep your eyes open, children. 

"Now, your next assignment..." 

Thoughts From A Coffin 

Mac was lying on the floor of the bar. Everything was growing dim. He was dying. Then an angel appeared, pulling him back from the brink, saving his life. 

"LiAnn..." 

It was a sign. He knew it. The Fates were telling him that his was where he belonged, who he belonged to. He understood now. He looked up into her beautiful face. 

She was gone. Vic was there instead. He was crouched over Mac, gun held ready. 

"Don't worry, Mac. I'll protect you. They'll have to come through me first, Love." 

* * *

Mac woke with a gasp. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. A glance at the clock said that it was two a.m. 

He slumped back on the bed, trying to figure out the dream. For the last several nights, he'd been dreaming about the accident. He'd taken a whiff of one of the Cleaner's deadly potions, not knowing that the fumes were deadly too. LiAnn had saved his life by injecting the antidote directly into his heart. 

He had been certain that it was a sign, that it meant that LiAnn was the one he was meant to be with. Now he wasn't so sure. Suddenly, he was remembering all the time that _Victor_ had saved his life. 

It was so confusing. He'd thrown himself at LiAnn, but she had said 'no'. And if she told Victor... he might lose his lover too. 

What the hell was he supposed to do now? 

* * *

Victor handed Oliver Drake off with a sigh of relief. The man wasn't too bad, and he _had_ gotten to meet former child actress Cleo Redford (though the thought of the two _together_ seemed... wrong somehow), but still... The man was a _politician_ , for crying out loud. Not to mention a member of GAC—the Government Advisory Council—which he was _not_ surprised to learn was the main funder of the Agency. 

GAC was a kingmaker. They had influence over, if not out-right control of, many of the most powerful nations. Not that their _existence_ could even be proved. It made him uncomfortable, so he was glad to dump the bodyguarding duty. 

Except... why was Drake so intent on having _Mac_ as his bodyguard? Mac was still recovering, not much use in case of an attack. Victor hadn't had the chance to see his lover since he gotten from the hospital, but he had heard that the younger man was still pretty weak. 

Considering Cleo, it wasn't likely that Drake was looking to get into Mac's pants, so why... Somehow, Victor had a bad feeling about this. 

And then there was LiAnn. She'd been giving him the strangest looks lately. He hoped she wasn't changing her mind about the break-up, because there was no way he was _ever_ leaving Mac. 

* * *

The coffin lid clanged shut, and Mac was left in the darkness, an oxygen tank the only thing to keep him alive. 

Now what? 

Now, apparently, he was to be shipped back to Hong Kong. The coffin seemed very appropriate all of the sudden, since the result was probably going to be his own death. 

One of the things that Drake had said was running through his mind. They had been talking about love—Drake talking about Cleo and Mac talking about LiAnn, though in his mind he was still trying to figure out if it was LiAnn or Vic he was _really_ talking about. Anyway, Drake had said: "You're in love with the girl, you have to be with her. Now you just have to figure out how far you're willing to go to be with her." 

But who? He started running through the possible options, the possible futures. 

LiAnn. He'd left the Tangs for her. No. That was mostly because of Michael. She'd saved his life. She'd chosen Vic's life over him. She looked after him while he was ill. She forgot his birthday. 

He tried to picture them together thirty years down the road. Parents, maybe. Grandparents even. 

The image refused to come clear. 

Vic. Standing up for him at his almost wedding, even with the hurt lurking in his eyes. Vic saying he loved him. Vic saying he belonged to Mac. Vic protecting him. Vic killing for him. He pictured the two of _them_ thirty years from now. 

Mac grinned. Vic was cooking dinner. Proper Hong Kong food that he had learned to make for Mac. Vic was refusing to even look at the squid. They were arguing over what sort of music to play. They were making love. 

Shit. He understood now. How could he have made such an idiot of himself with LiAnn. He'd make it up to Vic, somehow. 

Then he realized he probably wouldn't get the chance. Unless help came soon, he'd be in Hong Kong. He'd be dead. 

That was when the gunfire started. 

* * *

Victor crouched behind the parked car, watching Cleo head into the warehouse. He wanted to kill her, then and there, but the Director wanted to get _all_ of them. He didn't care. He just wanted Mac, safe and sound. 

When he found out the Cleo and Drake were shipping a coffin to Hong Kong, his stomach had dropped. No wonder Drake was so insistent on having Mac as a bodyguard. He was planning on selling Mac to the Tangs. Victor just prayed that it was supposed to be a live delivery. 

He stayed where he was, waiting for a signal from the Director. Then he heard the sound of a machine gun firing inside the building. 

Fuck waiting. He was going in. 

* * *

LiAnn rushed for the coffin. The last of the bad guys were being rounded up. Personally, she'd rather kill them all. She threw open the lid, dreading what she might see. 

Mac was lying there, arms on his chest and an oxygen mask strapped to his face. She sighed in relief as he blinked at her, then sat up. 

"What took you so long?" he asked. 

LiAnn smiled at him, thankful he was okay. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to say no. Maybe... 

But he wasn't looking at her anymore. He was looking over at Victor, and the expression in his eyes... No. Her chance was gone. 

Victor came rushing over. "Mac! Are you all right?" He ran a hand over the sides of the coffin. "Thank god this thing was bulletproof." 

"I'm fine, Vic. I just...want to go home." 

Before she knew what had happened, Victor had pulled Mac from the coffin and was hustling him out the door. She stood there and watched them go. 

"Are _you_ all right?" 

She turned to find the Director standing next to her. 

"Yeah. I think so." 

"Good. Let's get out of here." With that, the older woman tossed an arm around her shoulders and steered her towards the van, where their prisoners were already stashed. They'd drop them off at the Agency, then... 

Then what? She'd figure something out. 

* * *

Victor had hustled Mac back to his place, and was doing his best to completely pamper the man. Physical stress—not to mention the emotional stress—of the day, combined with his recovery from being poisoned was not good for the young man. 

So... A bubble bath (a gift from his little sister before she ran off to India or Pakistan or wherever), and hot chocolate (laced liberally with rum). Fluffy blankets and soft music on the stereo. He had thought of cooking, himself, but decided to order out from Mac's favorite Hong Kong delivery restaurant instead. Cooking would mean not being in the same room. So, there they were, cuddled together, waiting for the food. Life was good. 

"Vic?" 

"Hmmm?" 

"I... I had some time to think today. When I was in that coffin." 

Victor froze. All at once he felt a little ill. Mac was going to say he wanted to break off. He just _knew_ it. 

"I started thinking about the future. What I wanted. Who I wanted. I know I've been acting a little strange this week, but I finally decided." 

Victor braced himself. 

"You know when you said that you belonged to me? After that Moorcock thing?" Victor nodded. "Well, I realized today that the feeling is very much mutual." 

All the air in Victor's lungs expelled with a woosh, as he listened to the hesitant speech continue. 

"I was thinking about the future, and I realized that not only could I _see_ us still together, years from now, I _wanted_ that to happen. I know I've been an ass in the past, including the very _recent_ past, but if you still..." 

Victor finally silenced the young man with a kiss. "Mac, I love. I've told you that before, and I plan to keep telling you on a regular basis, for a _very_ long time. I plan to keep proving it to you..." 

"But not until after dinner. I'm starved." 

Mac looked at him, astonished, for a long moment, then started to snicker. By the time Victor had gotten to the door with his money, Mac was laughing so hard that he had to hold his sides. 

Victor paid the delivery boy, leaving him with a hefty tip, then turned back to his laughing lover. 

"So, are you gonna help me with this, or do I need to eat it all myself?" 

Still snickering, Mac pulled himself to his feet and headed for the kitchen to collect plates and a fork for Victor. One of these days, Victor knew he'd get the hang of the chop-sticks, but not today. 

Inside, he felt like dancing. Everything he wanted was falling into place. All they had left to do was figure out a way of getting out of the Agency. 

So why did he feel like the other shoe was about to drop? 

* * *

Mac rolled over and looked at the clock. It was quarter to two in the morning. In the faint moonlight coming from the window, he could just make out the features of his lover. Vic was cuddled up next to him. It was one of the ways that they were so compatible. They were both cuddlers. LiAnn used to complain, sometime, that it was sleeping with an octopus, the way Mac wrapped himself around her in his sleep. He wondered if she used to make the same complaint to Vic. 

Oh, well. It wasn't like it mattered anymore. 

Dinner had been slow and messy, neither of them using fork or chop-sticks. Instead, they had finger-fed each other, getting sauce and rice all over the place. Vic hadn't even insisted on scrubbing everything clean, afterwards. It'll wait 'til morning, he'd said. 

So they had gone to bed, instead. Unfortunately, they were both to tired to do anything. Instead, they'd just ended up falling asleep, a tangle of limbs. Very domestic. Very comfortable. 

Mac glanced over at the clock again. Two a.m. The last time he'd woken up at this time, he had been a bundle of confusion. Not anymore. It wasn't exactly what he'd expected from life—a moralistic ex-cop with a taste for eight-tracks and hockey- but it was what he had, and he wasn't going to give him up. 

Mac rolled against Vic's side, and was immediately pulled into a tight embrace by the still-sleeping man. Life was good. The only thing that would make it better would be having the chance to make a life outside of the Agency. 

So why did he feel like the other shoe was about to drop? 

* * *

LiAnn watched Mac from across the room. She had just given him the out that he had so desperately wanted. He had apologized for pushing her, saying that she was right. The past belonged in the past. Only, she wasn't so sure anymore. 

But it _was_ the past. Mac didn't really need her in his future. He had Victor. She had... nothing. All that time spent trying to decide which of them she really wanted. Which one she would choose to spend her life with. And while she was trying to decide, they had chosen each other. 

They looked good together. She had to admit that. And they were better suited to each other, bickering aside. Both were romantics. Both wanted life-time commitments, hearts and flowers and she still didn't think she was ready for that. She wasn't sure she'd _ever_ be ready for that. But she did feel... left out. Like instead of being the third angle of a triangle, suddenly she was a third wheel. Out of place. 

"It was a good thing, what you did." 

LiAnn looked up to see the Director standing there. She could see that the woman knew _exactly_ what she'd been thinking about "I know. But it still hurts." 

"Letting go of the past often does. You could have refused to back away. You could have fought for him. Who knows, you might even had won." 

"No. He had already decided on Victor. I don't think I would have won." 

The Director shrugged. "Maybe so. Now, I have a yen to go salsa dancing again. Care to join me? I'll even lend you an outfit to wear." 

LiAnn started to smile for what felt like the first time in days. "Just as long as you don't expect me to dress like a man again." 

"No... Actually, I have this fetching little red dress that will look just _wonderful_ on you. C'mon. Let's go dance the night away." 

LiAnn stood, and let the Director lead her from the bar. She didn't look back. Not even once. Life wasn't that bad, after all. 

So why did she feel like the other shoe was about to drop? 

  
**In The End**

In a bedroom, in an apartment in Toronto, a young woman sits up, coming completely awake from a dream. As she looks around the apartment, gasping and wild-eyed, she speaks one word only. 

"Michael." 

* * *

Victor sighed , and wished that Jackie would back off. First she had done her best to make him jump out of his skin, then she'd draped herself all over him, talking about her grade one play, where she'd played a basket of tomatoes. How appropriate. Now he was stuck with her, sitting in a hotel lobby, watching the elite of the international crime world march through. No one knew what the heck they were doing in Toronto. 

Of course the Director had to send _her_ to be his "field guide to these underworld types." Why couldn't she have sent Mac? Of course, they might not have paid much attention to the hoards of mobsters who were checking into the hotel. The Director wanted to know _why_ they were all showing up in town, together, and she wanted to know _now_. Jackie was enjoying herself, pointing out all the people she knew. 

"Like, don't look now, but over by the piano is a jewel thief with his ex-partner." 

Victor looked over, and saw his lover and their other partner come in. Mac looked over, and he could see the love in the other man's eyes. Then Jackie slapped him on the back with a laugh, almost knocking his glasses off. 

"I told you, don't _look_." The blonde grinned. "Wouldn't you just _love_ to know what they're talking about right now?" 

Victor tried to pay attention to the paper that was his cover. A poor one, he knew, but it was the easiest. It was probably _why_ she said he looked like a hotel 'dick'. Better than looking like a cop. "Uh... no," he said, trying to sound casual. 

Jackie grinned and leaned in closer. "Don't be so _obvious_. You're going to set the fire detectors off." 

Victor glared at her, wondering what she knew, and what she was just guessing. 

But he did wonder. LiAnn looked so serious. Had she thought twice about not competing with him for Mac? He was sure that Mac wouldn't change _his_ mind, but neither of them wanted to hurt LiAnn. After all, both of them had planned to marry her, at different times. 

* * *

Mac leaned against the counter, only half-listening to what LiAnn was saying. His eyes were drawn to Vic's and when their gazes met, Mac felt the temperature rise and his cock twitch. Now if only Jackie weren't clinging to his lover... 

One of these days he was going to have to hurt her, if she didn't stop doing that. 

He pulled his attention back to what LiAnn was saying when he realized that she had asked him a question. Quickly replaying her conversation in his head, he responded to her question about recurring dreams with a story about one of those typical nightmares about being naked in public. They laughed, but her next words hit him like a fist in the gut. 

"Lately, I've been having dreams about Michael." 

He felt his face go stiff. "Mi... Michael. Uh... Michael _Tang_?" 

"No. Michael Jackson. Of course, Michael Tang. Our brother." 

"Technically, he's not really our brother..." he protested weakly. 

"We _were_ family." 

She started going on about how it was all her fault that Michael had died. That it was her actions that were to blame for everything. Mac tried to reassure her that it wasn't her fault, but inside he was cringing. 

Family. Family shouldn't do what Michael had done to him. Family shouldn't rape. Abuse. He thought of telling her, but knew it wouldn't work. Even though she had seen flashes of Michael's dark side, even though she had left the family with him, she had always insisted on believing the best of Michael. Because he was "family". She wouldn't believe him. Vic was the only one who had _ever_ believed him. Finally, he broke in on her monologue of guilt. 

"Look, that's the past. We have _new_ lives now, and, y'know, we have to get on with them. "And my life is with Vic, he thought, and I don't want thoughts of Michael to poison it. 

LiAnn shook her head. "It's just... whenever I have these recurring dreams, they're like premonitions. Something in them always comes true." 

Mac looked down at the counter-top. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Vic looking at him with a worried expression. His stomach clenched, and he prayed that LiAnn was wrong this time. 

Michael was dead, he told himself. He just wasn't sure if that was a fact or a prayer. 

* * *

Victor was standing against the wall, checking his camera to find out how many shorts he'd taken, and how many were left on the roll of film. Mac was standing next to him, almost close enough to touch, and the girls were nowhere to be seen. Thank God. 

"So... what were you and LiAnn talking about?" he asked, trying to be nonchalant. The expression on Mac's face had worried the hell out of him. 

"Dreams," was the blunt, non-informative answer, so he decided to make a joke of it. 

"You mean like the one where you're downtown in your underwear?" 

"Shhh..." Mac said, starting to grin. "I'm downtown, I'm naked and it's cold out." 

"Ewww... I'm going to loose my lunch," Victor said, with a hot glance to show that he didn't mean it. 

Speaking of lunch, a delicious aroma suddenly filled the air. A young oriental woman went by carrying take-out bags, and Victor was suddenly _very_ hungry. For food, too. Since he had gotten involved with Mac, he had started to develope a taste for "proper" Chinese food. 

But Mac was off and running, and he followed the young man, wondering what had set him off. Mac amazed the girl by identifying what was in the bags. Victor joked with the girl about Mac having the nose and face of a bloodhound, but the expression on that face was making him nervous. The next thing he knew, Mac was dragging him off to collect LiAnn and go back to headquarters. 

Once there, they had cornered the Director. Mac and LiAnn told her that the Tangs were in town, by she didn't seem convinced. Not based just on a food delivery and a dream. Fine. 

"I'll convince you," Victor spoke up from behind the arguing trio. The Director just looked at him. "I know them," he said, indicating his partners. "And I know their hunches." Especially _Mac_ 's hunches. "This is their turf. They're right." 

Surprisingly, this seemed to convince her. Mac went on to point out that the Tang Godfather didn't _attend_ these sorts of functions, he _held_ them. The Director ordered them to find out why. 

Victor was heading for the exit, planning on going back to the hotel to rejoin Jackie in watching the parade of criminals, but as soon as the Director and LiAnn were both out of sight, Mac had Victor pinned up against a handy wall, and was kissing him senseless. 

"What was _that_ for?" Victor gasped when Mac pulled away. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you." 

"For believing me. Us." Mac replied, then he was gone, heading for his own car. Victor grinned, and headed off, a new bounce in his step. 

"I always do." 

* * *

Victor looked around the room, picking out the heads of some of the biggest crime syndicates in the world. He still couldn't believe that they had actually gotten _in_. 

And it was all thanks to Jackie. Unfortunately, he _also_ wanted to kill her. First this guy had shown up, looking like Elvis Presley—the Las Vegas version, that is. Jackie introduces the guy as 'The King', and old Family friend. Fine and dandy, except that she then introduced Victor as her _chiropractor_. Now this King fellow was expecting a rub-down. Victor knew he gave a good massage— Mac had told him that often—but he didn't want to _touch_ this guy, let alone give him a massage. _And_ he'd gotten in even deeper when he made a comment about the man being a Presley fan. Turned out the he was convinced that Presley had stolen _his_ image. 

But Jackie had calmed the man down, and given him a sob-story about wanting to get her own crime family back in big. The King knew that the Janczyk Family was down on their luck. What he didn't know was that Jackie was no longer heading the family. The family was gone, and Jackie now worked for the organization that had put them—and her—out of business. Victor still thought that the Director was nuts for bringing in Jackie. An eighteen-year-old valley-girl mob queen? Okay, so she no longer acted _quite_ as nuts as when they were on opposite side, but still... Anyway, the King had immediately offered to bring the two of them with him to the meeting so that Jackie could start to "network" again. 

Woops, the meeting was starting, and the oriental man was introducing... Mr Tang. Mac had been right on the money. The Tangs had _called_ this meeting. Victor slouched down behind the King, sliding on his sunglasses and praying that Mr Tang wouldn't see him. They had only seen each other once, briefly, but this wasn't safe... 

Mr Tang sat down in a chair at the center of the room, and started speaking. "Thank you all for being here. As you know, the Tang Family has conducted business with everyone here in varying capacities for a long time. This association has been mutually... beneficial. But the time has come for me to... step down." 

The ripple of reaction raced through the room. Victor was equally shocked. Mr Tang continued. 

"Please, my mind is made up. Equally, my mind is made up that the Tang Family should disengage from _all_ criminal activity. Now, I have a plan as to how our operations will be divided amongst you. You will pay us for these assets on a long-term lease-to-own basis. You will find it more than fair." 

The King certainly seemed to like the deal. Looking at the papers handed to them, most of the people in the room seemed to agree. 

"Once these arrangements are concluded, the Tangs will only be involved in legitimate business enterprises, and this new venture will be led by my son... Michael Tang." 

Victor froze as the young man walked into the room. Oh, God. What was he going to tell Mac? 

As Mr Tang hugged his son, and the room went from shocked silence to applause, Jackie leaned forward. "I though he was dead," she whispered in Victor's ear. He took a deep breath, then let it out. 

"He was." 

And he obviously wasn't the only person in the room horrified by the events. He'd been watching the man who had introduced Mr Tang. He was making a good show of joining in the applause, but Victor had seen the anger at the announcement, and the shock at Michael's resurrection. In fact, most of the people who had arrived with Mr Tang had looked upset when he had announced that the Tangs were going legal. 

Victor decided to keep an eye on the man. He was going to be trouble. 

But God! Mac... 

* * *

The Director sighed as the three agents left the room. That had gone about as well as she had expected. 

The time had finally come to confess. Confess that Michael's body _had_ never been recovered. Confess that a man meeting his description had been seen at the Tang holdings in South Africa. 

As for this business about the Tangs going straight, she didn't buy it. There had to be an angle here. No matter what LiAnn and Mac said about it having been "The Old Man"'s dream, she didn't believe that he was _really_ going to go legitimate. He was too firmly entrenched in the criminal world to get out. 

The reactions from her three favorite agents had been pretty much what she'd expected. Victor had been furious that she had hid this from them. From Mac. 

LiAnn, despite her own teachings, seemed to be determined to believe that Mr Tang was telling the truth. She considered LiAnn her protÈgÈ, but the girl was so naÔve in many ways. This might change her mind. The Director shook her head. She knew that LiAnn was going to end up running to the Family, and she would probably drag Mac with her. He certainly wouldn't let her go alone. Hopefully they'd come out alive. 

Mac... She could still see the shock, the horror. She had guessed about what had gone on between him and Michael even before she had "recruited" him. Listening to the surveillance tapes from when he had told Victor all about it had just confirmed her suspicions. He was the main reason she had never revealed what she knew about Michael's apparent death. The Tangs wanting revenge kept him in line, but still functional. Knowing that Michael was still alive would have made him useless. Already, she could see him shutting down. 

Mac had always been a favorite. He was so cocky, so confident... so wounded. She had told herself that she was protecting him by keeping him in the dark. 

She just prayed that he would survive being thrown into the light. 

* * *

Victor opened the door to his apartment, wondering if Mac would be there. Well, if he wasn't, he'd just duck over to Mac's place. Then he'd call LiAnn. Then he'd call the Director. Whatever it took, he wasn't going to let Mac be alone tonight. 

The apartment was dark, but he could hear noises coming from the bedroom. Moving carefully, keeping his gun handy, just in case, he opened the door. 

Mac was huddled in a fetal ball on the bed, still dressed. The muffled sounds he had heard was Mac sobbing. Victor set his gun on top of the dresser, then toed off his shoes before climbing onto the bed and pulling Mac into his arms. He started rocking back and forth, making soothing sounds. Finally, the sobs slowed down. 

"Tell me?" he prompted in a quiet voice. 

"Father is dead," came the choked reply 

For a moment, Victor went blank. As far as he knew, Mac hadn't heard from his dad since the incident with that spay that was doing illegal organ transplants, using unwilling donors. Then he realized that Mac meant Mr Tang. The Tang Godfather was dead. Suddenly, he flashed back to see the anger on the face of the man who'd been at the meeting with the Godfather. 

"How?" 

Mac rubbed his eyes, sitting up, but Victor kept his arms around the man. Normally, Mac was so self-assured that Victor sometimes forgot that the young man was almost ten years his junior, but right now he seemed even younger than his actual age. 

"LiAnn wanted to go see Michael and the old man. She's so sure that they _are_ trying to take the Family legit. She says that the old man is doing it so that she doesn't have to risk losing Michael again. Maybe she's right. But I couldn't let her go alone. I _couldn't_!" 

"Sh..." Victor soothed. "I know, I know." 

"They were just leaving the hotel. Michael got into the limo. Father stopped. He saw us. We were going towards him when the other car pulled up. They started shooting. We shot back. Michael shot back. The ones we didn't kill drove away. But it was too late. Father said something about 'forgiveness' and 'family', then he _died_!" 

The tears were starting again, and Victor felt helpless. No matter what had happened in the past, Mac's feeling about Mr Tang still verged on hero worship. He kept rocking the young man, stroking his hair and back. 

"I never had the chance to ask him." 

"Ask what?" 

"Whether he knew about what Michael was doing to me. Did he know, and not care? Or did Michael have he fooled, like he did everyone else..." 

Victor could understand what Mac was feeling. He needed closure, and it had been stolen from him. 

"It's going to be all right, Mac," was all he could say. "Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but someday..." 

The tears were fading again, and Mac clung to him. He brushed his lips against the creased forehead. 

"What do you need, Mac. Tell me." 

"Hold me. Love me?" 

"You know I do. Sh... Let me show you." 

Gently, he pressed Mac back down on the mattress. He pulled away long enough to strip his clothes off. Then he undressed Mac. 

"Shhh... I'm right here, and I'm never leaving you." 

Slowly, he started pressing gentle kisses all over Mac's face. Fingers stroked the young man's sides. He feathered the touches all over the furred chest, careful to never startle, never cause a flinch. When his hands reached down to Mac's genitals, he found them only half-hard. He coaxed them to full size. 

When Mac's cock was lifting up to full glory, Mac started to kiss him back. The long legs spread apart, and the hips canted upwards in invitation. Victor pulled away so that he could look Mac in the face. 

"Are you sure?" he asked. 

"Please," was the whispered reply. "Love me. Chase the nightmares away." 

Victor reached for the container of lubricant on the bedside table. Coating his fingers, he took his time in stretching Mac. There would be _no_ pain— _no_ discomfort even—tonight. Tonight was not the time to risk awakening bad memories. Once he was certain that Mac was as relaxed as he could be, he spread a thick coating of lubricant on his own cock. 

Mac wrapped his legs around Victor's waist, as he slowly pressed in. The preparations had been done well, and there wasn't even a flicker of pain on Mac's face. When Victor felt himself hit bottom, they both sighed. 

A slow glide, in and out. A long climb to orgasm. They came, close together, and clung to each other. There were still tears on Mac's face, and Victor could feel that his own was wet, as well. Once he had softened, he pulled out, and used some Kleenex to make a sketchy cleaning. Then he pulled Mac into his arms. 

"Sleep now. I'm right here. I'll keep the nightmares away." 

Mac made a snuffling sound, then snuggled up against Victor's chest. Soon his breathing had slowed until he was asleep. Victor lay awake for a while, though. Staring at the ceiling, wondering how he was going to protect his love from the inevitable pain that was coming. 

Michael. This could only be trouble. 

* * *

LiAnn watched the Director walk away. She still couldn't believe it. First the woman had seemed honestly sorry about their Father's death. She had even complimented him for how he'd raised and trained her and Mac. Then she'd put them on leave, telling them to do whatever they wanted. She even suggested that they go looking for revenge. 

Victor and Jackie were already gone. The Director had told them to stick close to someone called the King, by any means necessary. Victor had just looked ill at that. He'd expressed his own sympathies, then the two of them were gone. 

LiAnn turned to Mac. "We have to see Michael." 

Mac flinched. She had never understood the hostility between her two 'brothers'. Sure, they were rivals in a lot of ways, but it seemed to her that there was more to it. 

But there wasn't time now. They needed to get moving. Planning. There would be time to figure it out later. 

* * *

Mac paced around the bar. Idly, he wondered if maybe the Agency owned the place, since most of its clients seemed to work for the Agency in one way or another... 

Ah, hell. He was just trying to distract himself with this speculation. LiAnn had called the hotel and left a message for Michael to meet them there. Hopefully he wouldn't show. 

"So this is where you hang out." 

Nope. No such luck. 

"You like it?" Geez, Mac thought to himself. Did she have to so sound eager for approval? 

"I wouldn't have left the Family for it." 

Michael's hand went inside his jacket, and Mac reacted immediately, going for his own gun. He was relieved to note that LiAnn went for hers just as fast. Mac wondered why Michael didn't look a little more nervous with two guns pointed in his face. When a second man came out, armed, behind them, Mac had his answer. 

"Who are you?" Mac asked. 

"His conscience," was the reply. Mac gave a laugh, inside. Michael had never _wanted_ a conscience. Nice suit, though. But the eyes were cold, and the face, expressionless. 

"We should put the guns down if we're going to talk," Michael said. 

"I don't think so," was the immediate response from LiAnn. Mac didn't take his eyes off of Mr Conscience. 

"You remember what happened last time," Mac pointed out. 

"It didn't have to be like that. I could have let you stay together, inside the Family." Mac had to fight back a bitter laugh. And there was a nice bridge for sale in Brooklyn. "You didn't leave us. I drove you out." How true. "But I did it for love." You don't know what love is. "I was wrong. I apologize." Riiight. "I renounce it." 

Michael surprised him by tossing his gun away, then ordering his... friend to put his own away. Mr Conscience just holstered his. Seemed that he drew the line at throwing his own weapon away. Mac and LiAnn put their own guns away. Michael pointed out that they needed to talk fast. LiAnn asked about the other guy. 

"Paul can hear anything," Michael replied. "He's in charge of keeping me alive. He's my brother." 

_That_ got Mac to take his eyes off of the man. "I thought I was your brother." And we both know _how_ you treat your brothers. 

"You were. It didn't work out," was the cold reply. "I'm sorry about it." 

I'm not. 

Mac only listened with half his attention as Michael spun his sob story about being thought dead, reinventing himself on the side of the angels. He went on about how the Family should be legit. Mac finally couldn't listen anymore. 

"I'm outta here," he said, heading for the door. 

"Oh, so you're reborn on the side of good, but you won't allow me the same?" 

Mac stopped and turned around, angry. "I don't allow you anything. You know why? Because you are what you are, and you are what you always were. Evil. So we're going to leave now. You going to try to stop us?" 

"No. We're going to ask you to stay." 

"Ask us to stay?" Mac said with a laugh. "Here's a little safety tip for you. Whatever you've planned, forget it. You try anything and I'll kill you." 

Mac turned and left. He was a little surprised when LiAnn came with him. 

* * *

Victor had decided that hell was being in a hotel room with the King. The man was popping pills, drinking booze, eating the most disgusting foods and going on about partying. The Godfather's death had apparently made him decide that he was going to enjoy himself tonight, because who knew when he might die. He amused himself by demonstrating some lousy karate, and shot at his own bodyguard. 

The one thing that scared Victor was the fact that the King kept going on about his rub-down. He said he wanted the three of them to go into the bedroom for it, and Victor had a nasty suspicion that the man was thinking of _more_ than just a massage, and while he had no objections to the _concept_ of a threesome... 

He would kill the man first. 

* * *

The Director waited for Mac and LiAnn, wondering for the first time in a _long_ time if he was making a mistake. Michael Tang was standing beside her, and she'd just finished negotiating for his help in a... personal matter. In return, he wanted only one thing. 

Mac and LiAnn. 

When they entered, she could see the shock on their faces. The confusion in LiAnn's eyes, the betrayal in Mac's. And she was going to convince them to go back to the Family. 

She told them about the gang warfare that was ripping the Tangs apart. She told them that she believed Michael when he said he was going to purge the violence from the Family, taking the Tangs legit. The same story that she had refused to believe from his father. 

"We left the Tangs, but the Tangs haven't left us." 

LiAnn understood. Unfortunately, LiAnn also _wanted_ to believe Michael, and that sentimentality was dangerous. Mac _refused_ to believe, and that hostility was also dangerous. 

So, she held out the carrot of helping to change the family that raised them. LiAnn took the carrot, and she knew that Mac would follow to protect his 'sister'. 

She left them in the room together. Sometimes she almost hated herself. 

* * *

Jackie passed the Director as she entered the bar. The older woman was leaving with a grim look on her face. Over at the bar counter, she could see Mac and Victor talking. They both looked so damn serious. She was surprised that Vic wasn't jumping for joy. After all, King had keeled over dead, saving him the trouble of killing the man to keep from having to give him a rub-down. She saw LiAnn sitting at a table, over in the corner, and went to join her. 

"So... Like, what happened? It's like a funeral in here." 

LiAnn swirled her drink in the glass, not looking up. "The Director asked us to help Michael get back control of the Family." 

"Did you?" 

"Yes. His plan was for me to go to the people who killed Father, and offer to turn Mac and Michael over to them, to get back in the Family. Michael said that by putting _both_ of them in equal danger, it would prove he was sincere. The meeting was set up for a restaurant. No one expected them to open fire." Jackie winced at the thought of a gun battle in a restaurant during dinner. 

LiAnn sighed, and took a gulp of her drink. "They shot, we shot, we were left standing." She finally turned to face Jackie. Her eyes were practically glowing in the dim light of the bar. "Michael came through for us. He saved Mac's life. He's really going to take the Family legal." 

Jackie eyed her, dubiously. "Would you go back to Hong Kong if he asked you?" 

"I... don't know." 

Jackie started putting two and two together. "You're tempted, aren't you. Not just because it's the Family, either. Three guys have been in love with you, and you lost them all. Michael died. You pushed Mac and Victor away, and now they have each other. But suddenly Michael is back, not dead anymore, and maybe you've been given another chance." 

LiAnn's face went blank. "I... hadn't thought of it that way." 

"Maybe you should." 

* * *

"I know I'm right about Michael." Mac's hand still itched from shaking Michael's hand. It was the first time that he had _willingly_ touched the other man in years. In his mind's eye, he could still see the restaurant, the bodies, feel the gun pressed into his back as he lay on the floor. He could also still see LiAnn going into the man's arms, and his stomach clenched. 

"He saved your life," Vic pointed out. 

"I know that. I just... I have this feeling." 

"Listen, man. Letting go is not always easy. Saying you're wrong, forgiving. It doesn't come naturally for some of us. Believe me, I know." 

"I just have this feeling." 

Mac turned suddenly. "Do you _really_ think Michael has changed?" 

"I don't know, but nearly dying can make you take a long look at your life." 

"I was just thinking. What about Kevin Chang." Vic frowned. 

"He died more than a month ago. What about him?" 

"You remember what we said? How someone with a lot of power in Hong Kong would have been needed to get him out of prison?" He could see the light start to dawn. 

"Powerful. Like the Tangs." 

"And how did he find me in Toronto?" 

"The Tangs knew you were here." 

"Exactly." He could see the wheels turning in Vic's head, the protective instincts kicking in. He drained his glass, and pushed away from the bar. He didn't want to think about it anymore that night. "C'mon, Vic. I want to go home." 

"Home," Vic agreed, and they left the bar. 

* * *

"It was strange being a part of that family again. Being part of the team. LiAnn believed me, but Mac..." Michael laughed, stalking across the room. "I saved his _life_... and I don't think he even believes me now." 

"He will," Paul said, looking at him, then repeated himself in Cantonese. 

"I hope you're right. I need them to believe in me, before I can do what I have to do." He stopped in front of his bodyguard, his brother, and reached up to stroke the cheek. "Do _you_ believe in me?" 

The other man twisted his head to kiss the hand that cupped his cheek. "Always, Michael." 

Michael pulled the man's face down and kissed him. At the last moment, he bit down. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, exciting him. He reached to rip open the shirt, not caring that his fingernails caught on the skin beneath, leaving red tracks in the skin. Roughly, he pushed the man towards the bed, stopping to admire the swollen lip, blood still oozing from the bite marks. He licked the beads away, then stood back. 

He stripped quickly, and waited impatiently while Paul did the same. He wasn't in the mood to wait. Not tonight. Legs over the shoulders, and straight in. It was tough going at first, but practice loosened him up, and blood quickly lubricated the way. 

Paul's erection made him smile. This 'brother' had proven so much more... trainable than his last one. Finding someone who was a masochist had obviously been the right way to go. 

Suddenly, instead of Paul's bearded face he could see Mac under him, writhing and sobbing. The image made him grin, and he shot deep inside the flesh that surrounded him. Then Mac's face was gone, and Paul's orgasm grabbed him hard. 

He pulled out, and went to the washroom to wash his cock off. Mac had been his before, and would be again. For a while, at least. 

* * *

Mac threw himself to the side, dodging the bullet racing towards him, and hit the floor with a gasp. He realized that he was naked, tangled in the bed-spread, 

"Mac, are you all right?" Vic's worried face peered at him from over the edge of the bed. 

"I... yeah... Just a nightmare." I think. 

He pulled himself back up onto the bed, and was immediately wrapped in Vic's arms. Lips pressed to his forehead, then below the ear. "Tell me about it?" 

"Michael." Mac rolled over to face Vic. "I can't really describe it, but it was me against him. At the end, he said 'no doubt you are a competent warrior, but people believe in me. I win, because I'm the master of appearances.' Then he shot at me." 

"Master of appearances, huh? Well, he's not going to win _this_ time." 

Mac cuddled up against Vic's side. "I wish I could believe that," he said. 

* * *

The Director stalked down the stairs and waved a hand at the screen on the wall. "Behold the face of evil," she said, then turned. 

Dobrinsky. She sighed. "That's what I get for trying to make an entrance. Next!" The image was replaced with one of a man in his thirties, with short brown hair and cold eyes. 

"This is Gerald Pouchie." 

"What kind of name is Pouchie?" Victor had to ask. 

"It's an old Huguenot name, I believe." 

"What's a Huguenot?" 

Education, these days, was obviously sorely deficient. "A French Protestant." 

Mac immediately piped up, as if on cue. "Uh... what's a Protestant?" 

"All right, that's enough. This is serious." Very serious. Pouchie was one of the world's top assassins, and he was in town, and he was trouble. He'd already killed at least once since arriving, she explained. 

"Locate him and stop him," she ordered. "Kill him, if necessary. In fact... kill him anyway." 

"Uh... that's illegal," LiAnn protested. 

"I'll overlook it. He seems to have been at work last night. Dobrinsky has the details." 

She turned and headed back up the stairs. Hopefully, they would stop Pouchie without getting themselves hurt. Stop him before... well, before it was too late. In the meanwhile, she had some plans of her own. 

* * *

Victor left the apartment of Elizabeth Douglas, widow and now deceased, with Mac. Mac and LiAnn had disappeared to meet with Michael before coming to the scene. 

The woman was dead at her desk, with all the ear-marks of a Pouchie hit. The right kind of gun was used, and the wrapper from Pouchie's favorite brand of candy had been left at the scene. But why her? And why was the Director so intent on stopping this one assassin? But, right now he was more interested in another question, though. 

"So... How'd it go with Michael?" 

Mac snorted. "First he tried to impress us with how well the Family is doing in legitimate business ventures. Then he told us he had changed from when we knew him before. Finally, he offered us money for our time in the Family, our services. It felt _so_ good to refuse it. He cried some crocodile tears, but didn't try to convince us to take it." 

"How did LiAnn react to all this?" 

Mac sighed. "I just don't understand why she's so willing to believe him. She _says_ I'm biased by bad memories. She doesn't _know_ how bad those memories are. She thinks that the offer of money proves he's changed, cause he never would have offered before." 

Victor rubbed his face. "This could get nasty. What is Michael up to? Maybe... maybe you should tell her why..." 

"No. She wouldn't believe me. She'd say I was making it up to change her mind. She would. She thinks I'm being irrational about him." Mac looked away from Victor for a moment, and when he turned back, his eyes were bleak. "Sometimes, I wonder if she's right, Maybe Michael _has_ changed. But most of the time, I _know_ I'm right, and I'm scared that she's going to fall into his arms, into whatever trap he's planned. I... I just don't know what to do." 

Victor pulled Mac into a hug. "We'll figure something out. Don't worry." 

* * *

Mac stared at the papers in front of him, trying to distract himself with work. Lazlo duPont. Former first violinist at the Toronto Symphony. Then concert master. Then homeless nutcase. Now Pouchie victim number two. Why? 

What was Pouchie up to? And what was the Director up to? Victor had already talked to Murphy and Camier, the Cleaners. According to them, there was a connection between the Director and Pouchie, but even _they_ didn't know what it was. 

Ah, well. There was no time to speculate. Maybe if they could figure out what Pouchie was up to—"whacking a widow, then whacking a whacko" as the Director had put it—they would be able to stop him. Then they'd get their answers. He wasn't really sure that he _wanted_ to know, though. 

* * *

The Director wandered through the Christmas tree lot, idly looking around. The night air was crisp. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, though. It was Pouchie. She was sure of it. If she could lure him out, get him to make an attempt, maybe she could end this now. She knew he was coming for her. Sooner or later. 

She looked across the street and tensed when she saw the figure next to her limo. No. Just a cop giving her a ticket. Damnit, maybe she was wasting her time. 

Then again, maybe not. The first bullet nearly hit her. She dove for cover, pulling her own gun, but it was too late. A car was already taking off. 

She'd missed her chance. 

* * *

Mac arrived at the Agency, the next day, at the same time as Vic and LiAnn. 

"Well," he said, conversationally. "Lazlo's friend is as nuts as he was. All she could tell me was that the concert master before Lazlo committed suicide. You?" 

Vic grimaced. "I talked to the Director. All I got were hints that whatever their connection was, it was... personal. She warned me about getting involved in her _personal_ affairs. She's starting to worry me." 

"I went to see Michael." 

Mac and Vic turned towards her. Mac was horrified. 

"He wants me to help him convince you to trust him," she said, not looking him in the eye. 

"Are you going to?" 

"I... was tempted. But as I was leaving, I found one of Pouchie's candy wrappers on the floor. He says that the Director asked him to hire Pouchie." 

Mac turned towards her as they went into the briefing room. "No way that the Director asked Michael to hire Pouchie. It's just another of Michael's lies." 

"No, it's another one of the Director's lies," LiAnn shot back. 

Mac turned towards the table, and flinched when he saw Michael standing next to the Director. Even worse, she confirmed his story. He _knew_ it was a trick of Michael's. He was using her, even more that she was using him, using the Tang name to get to Pouchie. 

It was almost a relief when Michael invited a fight. Michael actually seemed to believe that even Victor would trust him, the way LiAnn did. That Mac was the only one who didn't. 

"You guys..." LiAnn started to say, but Vic cut her off. 

"Noooo... don't be hasty. This could be interesting." He gave Mac a grin, as he walked past, as if to say 'kick his ass'. 

Kick his ass, he did. The only thing that would have been _more_ satisfying would be if Michael had fought back. But no. He was trying to prove he wasn't hair-trigger violent anymore. He let Mac do whatever he wanted. 

But it felt so goood... 

But the phone rang, interrupting them. Pouchie had struck again. Ennio Marcogliese, mobster. The Director ordered Vic to go to the funeral, since Pouchie often took photographs for his collection. LiAnn, she sent to the archives to try to track down the connection between the victims. 

"What about me?" Mac asked as she moved to help Michael up off of the floor. 

"You need time to think," she said, angrily, then left. 

* * *

Victor sighed as he headed for the archive. The funeral had turned out to be a bust. Jackie had shown up, representing the Janczyk Family. Turned out that the Marcogliese Family were...friends. Now she was tagging along, all eager to help find Pouchie. 

"So," he said to LiAnn as they entered the Archives computer room. "Apart from the fact that they were all murdered by Pouchie, how do a mobster, a widow and a street guy connect?" LiAnn shrugged. "This is not good." 

"In fact, it's bad," Jackie added, sitting down. 

"Well, maybe the only thing these three _did_ have in common was Pouchie," LiAnn said. Victor and Jackie looked at her. 

"Isn't that a little _too_ obvious?" Jackie asked. 

"Well, _too_ obvious is all we have at the moment," LiAnn shot back in a mild voice. 

"You know Marcogliese, right?" Victor said to Jackie. LiAnn's hunches were often good. "Can you think of any reason he might be tied to Pouchie?" 

"Well, you know... There was a hit on his brother Carlo, years ago," Jackie said thoughtfully. "Everyone just assumed that Ennio hired within the ranks." 

"All right, there's something," LiAnn said, then started pulling up the files on the other two victims. 

Elizabeth Douglas had two dead husbands. One died in an obvious accident. The other was shot and killed in an apparent robbery attempt. The gun used was the same that Pouchie used. 

Lazlo duPoint became concert master after his predecessor committed suicide. Same type of gun. 

It was obvious. Pouchie was killing off his former employers. It was the only thing that made sense. Maybe he was retiring, and wanted to clean the books. But why was the Director... 

"Because I once hired Gerald Pouchie," was the answer from the doorway, making them all jump. "There. Happy?" Then she was gone again. 

* * *

"So she's trying to get him before he gets her," Victor said, slumping on the sofa. 

"Only thing is, her methods are likely to get her killed. I went to talk to her, and she was on the phone with Michael. She _told_ him to hire Pouchie to _kill_ her. I told her she was making a mistake, trusting Michael. She says I can't see clearly, cause I've got a lot of baggage where Michael is concerned. Doesn't she understand? I know Michael! And she's so blinded by Pouchie that _she's_ not seeing clearly, but she refuses to see that." Mac grimaced. 

Victor sighed. Obviously, Mac's stomach was giving him trouble again. Neither one of them wanted to eat, but they needed to relax, to get some sleep. He went to the kitchen and made up a couple mugs of chamomile tea, sweetened with honey. 

"Here," he said, handing one of the mugs to Mac, as they climbed into bed. "Drink this and get some sleep. Somehow, I think this will all be over tomorrow night." 

"Then what?" Mac said, already getting drowsy from the hot, sweet liquid. "I don't think I can handle this anymore. I want out. I want a life. I want... a lot of things." 

"So do I, Mac. So do I." 

Mac frowned, then turned to look at him. "Do you think Michael _could_ have changed?" 

Victor thought about it for a moment. He wasn't going to lie to Mac. "I think he has changed. The Michael you've told me about wouldn't have let you beat him up. He would have hit first." He put his empty mug on the bedside table and wrapped himself around Mac. "Do I think he's gone straight? Maybe. Do I think that his basic attitudes towards you, and other people he uses, has changed? I doubt it. People don't change that much, that fast. But... I don't know. It would be nice if it were true." 

* * *

All three of them showed up, the next day, and parked themselves in the Director's office to wait. She glared at them, but they refused to react. 

When Michael finally arrived, late in the evening, it was short and to the point. The Viceroy Soy Mill. Eleven p.m. He would get there early and pay Pouchie. Then she would show up. Michael left to go to the meet. They suggested setting up a trap, but she refused to consider it. She was atoning. Seemed that she had hired Pouchie to work for the Agency, years ago. She trained him, molded him, and then he had gone independant for the money. 

Pouchie didn't kill the guilty. He killed anyone he was paid to, including innocents who just got in the way of the wrong people. That, the Director blamed herself for. So, she was going, and she was going alone. She ordered them to wait for her there. Then she was gone. 

Vic looked at them. "Okay, so we give her... what? A two-minute head start?" 

"One," LiAnn piped up. 

"Hell, let's go now," Mac said. 

"Okay." They rushed after her. 

* * *

The Director entered the Mill, leaving Michael outside. This was it. She could hear whistling, and there was a candy wrapper on the ground. 

"Pouchie," she called out. "I'm here." 

No answer. 

"Hey, I don't mind being murdered, but I hate being kept waiting. C'mon! I want to see you. I want you to look me in the eye. You're not going to shoot me in the back," she taunted, moving through the dark and empty space. "You haven't declined that much, have you?" 

A man stepped out, too far away to see more than a silhouette. At last. She needed to finish this, fast. She knew her three agents would disobey her orders to stay away. She wanted to end this before they got there. 

"Good. At least we can settle this thing properly," she said as the man walked forward. "Okay?" 

She handed towards him, waiting for him to go for his gun, when he stepped into a patch of moonlight. It wasn't Pouchie! 

She dove for cover, as gunfire from several angles. 

* * *

Mac eyed Michael, as they got out of the car. He was tempted to just kill the bastard, and be done with it, but not while the Director was in trouble. Vic and LiAnn headed for the south entrance, telling him to wait, then go in. They'd sandwich Pouchie between them. 

The sound of a gun safety being release made him spin to see Michael, armed. 

"I'm going with you," Michael said, an earnest look on his face. 

"Why?" 

"Because we're family." 

Fine, Mac thought. I can keep a better eye on you this way. 

* * *

"I can't believe you brought shooters, Pouchie," the Director shouted. "I don't know whether to be flattered or disappointed." 

"You want me?" came the reply. It sounded like he was higher up than her. "Come and get me!" 

"Oh, I will," she snarled. In the background, she could hear shooting. Obviously, her threesome had arrived. 

"Sounds like you brought your own shooters!" 

"Let's settle this thing," she muttered to herself, then threw herself from her cover onto a handy flat trolley. Sliding across the room, on it, she shot, taking out several more men. She doubted, though, that any of them were Pouchie. 

She rolled off the trolley, and was heading for more cover, when a bullet ripped through her arm. Coming to rest behind a pillar, she gasped. Just a flesh wound, though, but she felt faint. She heard more shots, and she saw Mac and Michael. Pouchie... Pouchie was dead, on the ground. Victor and LiAnn rushed to her side. 

"You all right?" Victor asked, quickly checking her over. 

"Ahhhh... It's the end of this coat," she said, trying to make a joke of it. Victor ignored it. 

"She's been hit. Let's get her out of here. C'mon." 

Victor swung her up into his arms and started for the door. Shots were fired behind them, and she gasped when he stopped and swung around. Mac had his gun aimed at Michael. Michael was aiming at a new body, on the ground behind Mac. 

"It's all right," Mac said, lowering his gun. Victor was reluctant, but Mac nodded to him, so he headed through the door, then gently lowered her to the ground beside her car. 

* * *

Inside, Mac eyed Michael, but saw no signs of deception. Could he really have been so wrong? If so... he would make it up. 

"Sorry. All right? I'm sorry I didn't believe you'd changed. Sorry for... everything." It was hard to say the words. 

"That's okay," Michael said, breaking into a sunny smile. "Took me long enough to convince you, though." 

Mac shrugged. "It was a tough sell." And you know why. 

"I know. But it was very important that you believe me. That you trust me again." 

"I... do." 

"That's great." Michael held out his hand, and Mac reached out to grasp it. 

"Now you'll know..." 

A fist lashed out, and Mac saw stars as he went down. 

"Now you'll know what it feels like to be betrayed," Michael snarled, his expression changing completely. Now there was hate and lust and violence and a hundred other dark emotions. 

"That's great," Mac said, rubbing his jaw. This was what he got for lowering his guard, even for a moment. "First you lie to me, then you kill me." It was obviously what he planned. 

"Killing you is going to be my last criminal act. I win, Mac." 

"You kill me and you're dead. You're not going to get past LiAnn and Vic." 

"Well, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make," Michael said, and Mac could see the insane light in his eyes. "But I don't have to. You see, Pouchie was worried about taking out your Director, so he had backup. This building is wired to blow in... about two minutes. That should give you enough time to really _feel_ what betrayal is." 

He lifted his gun and fired at the ceiling, dropping a light fixture onto Mac, slamming him into the ground. Barely conscious, he felt Michael stroke his face. "I had other plans for you, but this is... poetic justice." Mac felt lips press against his, in a parody of a kiss. 

"Good-bye, Mac." 

* * *

Outside, Victor stood next to the Director. They'd won! He was elated, until LiAnn pointed out that Mac and Michael weren't behind them anymore. 

"Michael..." Victor felt his stomach drop. Oh, God. Mac! "I'll get Mac," he called, drawing his gun as he rushed back inside. 

"Victor," the Director called, pulling him up short. "Pouchie sometimes used a bomb as backup." 

"Then I better hurry," he said, grimly, then went through the door. 

* * *

LiAnn watched Victor disappear. How could she have been so wrong? Was Jackie right? Had her fear of being alone blinded her? 

A car screeched in the background, and she ran out into the open. It was Michael. As the car turned towards her, she flashed back to the last time they'd been in this position, when he'd driven into the harbor to avoid hitting her. Somehow, she _knew_ he wouldn't hesitate this time. 

She emptied her gun, then turned and ran for the Mill. Behind her, she heard the car crash and explode. She didn't look back. 

* * *

Mac was coming back to his senses, when he saw Vic pulling the light fixture off of him. 

"Mac. Mac! C'mon. Get up!" 

"There's a bomb in here, Vic. Get out!" Please leave. Please live. 

"Like I'm suddenly going to start listening to you?" 

"How much time do we have?" Oh, no. Not LiAnn too! 

"Uh, by my watch.. like.. none." 

"Get up, get up!" Vic said pulling him upright and towards the door, LiAnn right in front of them. "Run! Run!" 

They ran. They were too late. 

* * *

The Director stared at the door, praying for the first time in years. Praying to see her three agents coming through the door. Praying that there was enough time. 

The building exploded. 

"There's never enough time," she gasped, and felt the first tears start to fall. 

**Back At The Beginning**

The Director wandered around the outside of the burning building, searching. She couldn't get too close, and the bullet wound in her arm was causing her a great deal of pain, but she kept searching. 

She refused to believe that her three agents were dead. They were disrespectful, went behind her back, disobeyed her orders, and she was _very_ fond of them. And despite their failings, they usually got the job done, albeit with heavy amounts of gunfire and destruction. 

Over to the side, she could see the burning remains of Michael's car. Michael Tang. She still couldn't believe she'd let him use her this way. Mac's distrust, she'd chalked up to the past, and suggested he get over it. She should have known better. Even though a pretty face might distract the man for a while, Mac was a good judge of character. And he had been right. She had been so intent on Pouchie, she ignored all the warning signs. 

It had all been for show. What he'd really been after was revenge on his former partners, revenge for their "betrayal". In the end, that revenge had cost him his life. 

But he had still gotten his revenge. Victor and LiAnn had rushed back into the building to find Mac, even though they knew that the place had probably been rigged to explode by the assassin she'd killed. She'd held her breath, praying to see them at the door, but the bomb had gone off, and her hopes had died. 

A car screeched to a halt behind her, but she ignored it. It wasn't until she was being shaken by the blonde girl that she realized that her newest agent, Jackie, had arrived on the scene. 

"What happened? Where are they?" 

The Director pointed at the building's remains. She could hear the sound of sirens in the distance. "In there. Michael left Mac in the building. Victor and LiAnn went after him. The building exploded." 

"And Michael?" Jackie was almost snarling. 

"Dead. LiAnn shot him, the car blew up." 

They had come around to the side of the building. The first firetrucks had roared into the parking lot, followed quickly by the police. The Director knew she was going to have to come up with a pretty damn good story to explain what had happened. 

"Um... Did you hear that?" 

The Director looked up. Jackie had a puzzled look on her face, and she cocked her head to the side. 

"Yeah... Over there..." 

There was a pile of crates near the edge of the inferno. The top crates were already on fire. Then she heard it too. A groan. Wood moving against wood as it was shifted. 

Quickly, they were tossing aside crates, ignoring the heat of the flames that continued to come closer. A fireman in full gear tried to get them to move away, but they refused. More hands helped shift boxes until... 

It was LiAnn. She was battered and bloodied and barely conscious. The hair on one side of her head was gone, leaving burns in its place. She obviously had many broken bones. 

There were firemen with hoses, holding off the flames while paramedics came to load her on a bodyboard, as fast as was safe. Then she was being loaded into an ambulance for the journey to the hospital. 

Of Victor and Mac, there was no sign. 

* * *

Jackie had pulled the Director into her car, and followed the ambulance to the hospital. Once there, they were pointed to the waiting room. 

Some time later, neither woman sure _how_ long, a doctor came to speak to them. 

"Miss Tsei is in the operating room. The explosion that caused her injuries has left her with third degree burns, multiple broken bones and some internal bleeding. She's a strong woman, though, and there should be no obstacles to a full recovery. However, I do suggest the two of you go home. She won't be able to have visitors until tomorrow evening at the earliest." 

The Director nodded. 

"Like, did she say anything before going under?" Jackie asked. "She was with two guys when the place blew up, and nobody's found them yet. She might know if they got out." 

"Sorry, Miss. According to the paramedics, she was unconscious before they even loaded her in the ambulance. She hasn't woken up since. You'll have to wait a day or two to ask her." 

"'Kay." 

Jackie steered the Director towards the exit and her car. While they'd been waiting, a doctor had patched up the older woman. Luckily, the bullet had passed through cleanly. A couple stitches, a bandage and a painkiller and she'd been ready to go. 

Jackie planned to drive the Director home, then realized she had no idea where the woman lived. She glanced over at her passenger, and found her asleep. Fine. She'd take the woman to _her_ place, and then call Dobrinsky to let him know where she was. Besides, it didn't seem like leaving the woman alone was a good idea. 

Jackie found it easy enough to maneuver the woman out of the car, and into the apartment. With the events of the evening and the painkillers, the woman was in a daze. Jackie knew that she had almost ignored other agent deaths in the past, taking it more as a personal affront, but this was different. No matter how much she might hide it, it was obvious that she had a soft spot for this threesome, and she blamed herself for their deaths. 

In the apartment, she stripped her boss and put her to bed. Then she called Dobrinsky to report. There'd been no sign of Vic or Mac, he told her. She promised to take good care of the Director, then hung up. 

In the bedroom, the Director was lying on her uninjured side with her eyes closed, but there was the faintest trace of tears running down her face. Jackie pulled off her own clothes and climbed into the bed. She spooned up behind the other woman, and wrapped her arms around her, careful not to jar the injured areas, and started rocking, ever so slightly. 

She kept rocking, pretending not to hear the sounds of tears, pretending she wasn't crying herself, until the other woman was asleep. Then she buried her face in the auburn hair and went to sleep. 

* * *

The next morning, they were back at the hospital. The Director was alert, and spent most of her time on the phone with Dobrinsky. Michael's bodyguard had been tracked down. He verified that Michael _had_ been moving to make the Tangs legit, but that he had planned from the start to kill Mac and LiAnn. Angry at their "betrayal", he had worked to make them trust him, believe in him, so that when he killed them, they would feel as betrayed as he had. The man scared the agent sent to question him. He was so cold, and so angry at Michael's death... She wondered what his relationship really _was_ with Michael. 

She was tempted to destroy what was left of the Tangs anyway, but decided not to. No matter what had happened, Mac and LiAnn had still felt... beholden to that family, and would not have wanted it. She ordered the man shipped back to Hong Kong, along with anyone else from the family, with a warning that if they ever showed their faces on the North American continent again, she _would_ destroy them. Cheerfully. With great violence. 

The news from the bomb site was less promising. No sign had been found of either of the men, but the fires had burned so hot that the chances of finding any traces of them, if they had still been inside the building, were nil. 

So they waited, and paced, outside of LiAnn's hospital room. The young woman had survived surgery. The bleeding had been stopped, the bones had been set, the burns had been treated. She was going to be a long time recovering, but she _would_ recover. 

It was late in the afternoon before the Director was finally allowed to see her agent. LiAnn was still unconscious, hooked to monitors, and covered with bandages. She hunted, and finally found an undamaged patch of skin to stroke. 

"Shhh," she crooned as LiAnn's eyelids twitched. "Sleep. It's all right. You're going to be just fine." LiAnn sighed, then slipped into a deeper sleep. The Director stayed there for a few moments, watching her breathe. Then she headed for the door. 

* * *

Outside, in the hallway, she found Jackie and Dobrinsky talking. Dobrinsky's expression was unreadable. 

"Well," she asked. "Anything new?" 

"Maybe," he said, hesitance in his voice. "On a... hunch... I checked the guys' getaway funds." 

"Getaway funds?" Jackie asked in confusion. 

The Director explained. "Both the boys kept rather large sums of money in several locations they didn't think the Agency knew about, along with fake papers and passports. In case they ever decided to try to leave. And?" 

"Cleaned out." 

"Which means they must be alive!" Jackie said, brightly. 

"Or," the Director replied, unwilling to raise hopes. "Or, someone else found the money and took it. One of the Tang members, perhaps. Or an Agency person who decided that since Mac and Victor were dead, the money was fair game." 

"But what if it _was_ them?" 

The Director sighed, and leaned back against the wall. "Then they've decided to leave. We could check the airports, train stations and bus stations..." 

"But," Dobrinsky said, already knowing what the answer would be. 

"But, if this is what they want... I'm not going to stand in their way. I nearly got them killed last night. It wasn't Agency business, it was personal. I threw Mac and Michael together, and that almost got them both killed. If they've decide to leave..." She shut her eyes. "If they've decided to leave, I'm not going to stop them. Dobrinsky, go back to base. Erase all traces of them from Agency records. Use my 'worm' program on the Agency computers to make sure that no one can track them." 

"The other directors won't like that." 

"Tough. I'm making this call. It'll be on _my_ head." 

Dobrinsky nodded, then headed for the door. The Director and Jackie headed for the waiting room again. 

" _Do_ you think they're alive? I mean, that was one _hell_ of an explosion." 

"I don't know. I'd like to think so." 

* * *

Somewhere over the Atlantic, on a plane bound for Paris, two men sit. They were lucky to get on a flight, this close to Christmas. Victor was asleep, but Mac couldn't help replaying the last twenty-four hours over and over again in his head. 

They'd been damned lucky. The explosion had thrown them off their feet, and into oblivion. When they'd woken, they'd found themselves on the other side of a pile of crates. Thirty feet away, they saw the Director and Jackie dig LiAnn out from under another pile of crates, tossed by the explosion. Watched while their partner was loaded into an ambulance. Watched, but made no noise. 

They'd headed away from the burning building after the ambulance had left, followed by the two women in Jackie's car. Both were still stunned, but were relatively unharmed. A twisted knee, scrapes, bruises and a few minor burns. A lump on Mac's head caused by Michael. Compared to what they had seen of LiAnn, they were in great condition. A couple blocks away, they found a spot to sit down. 

"We should have said something," Vic said. 

"Yeah." 

"But we didn't." 

"Yeah." 

"Why?" 

"I'm not sure." 

"I guess we should find a phone." 

"Why?" 

"To let them know we're okay, of course." 

"Why?" Mac asked, thinking fast. "Think about it, Vic. For the last couple of years, we've been at the beck and call of the Agency. Neither of us is happy with the job anymore, if we ever were. I don't know about you, but I want out, and this is the perfect chance. I've got money and papers stashed away. Enough to get anywhere in the world and set up a new identity. Support a person for a year. If we let them think we're dead..." 

"A new life. Together?" 

"Together." Mac reached out and grabbed onto Victor's hand. "A new life, free of the past. What happened tonight was the last closure I needed for my old life. The entire time I've been with the Agency, it's hung over my head. It was part of how they _kept_ a hold of me, what happened with the Tangs. Now it's over. Now I can start over. Be who _I_ want to be. And I want you to come with me." 

He waited, watching the other man's face. There was nothing there that he could read. Finally, Victor opened his eyes and smiled. 

"So, where do we go?" 

Mac started grinning. He couldn't have stopped, even if he wanted to. "Well, I've never been to Paris. The Tangs operated in Europe, but they're gone, and the Agency kept us in North America." 

"Great. We'll grab your getaway stash, then mine." 

"Yours...?" 

"Of course. You're not the only one thinking of the future, you know." 

Mac started laughing. He stood up, then pulled Victor to his feet. If Vic was anything like him, there would also be a suitcase full of clothing and personal items in his stash, so they wouldn't have to go buy new clothes or risk going back to their apartments. They'd still be leaving a lot behind, but it was going to be worth it. 

"Mac?" 

"Yeah?" 

"What the hell are we going to do in Europe? After all, we're going to have to support ourselves." 

"Let's see. You'd do _great_ in the cabaret clubs with your strip act. Or as a masseuse." 

Vic snorted. "Seriously, Mac." 

"Well... we did a great job with the Rivers, didn't we?" 

"What, you mean... become thieves?" 

"Why not? Hell, we could target criminals. Clean out their safes, keep the valuables and send evidence of wrong-doing to Interpol or something." 

Vic smiled at the thought. "Sort of a cross between Raffles and Robin Hood. Well, it's something to think about when we get there. C'mon, gorgeous. Let's get going." 

Victor leaned on Mac's shoulder, and they limped down the alley, making plans as they went. 

* * *

Mac smiled at his sleeping partner. They'd showered at the Y, and changed into fresh clothes before heading for the airport. Cash bribes had gotten them onto a plane to Paris that had some last minute cancellations. Soon, they would be announcing their landing in Paris, and they would begin their new lives. 

Set up their new identities. Maybe work for a while as bodyguards. Being _good_ thieves required a lot of expensive equipment. Besides, he needed to spend some time training Vic. Safe cracking. Alarm systems. That sort of stuff. 

It was a big break. Mac knew he'd miss LiAnn. Hell, he might even miss the others. Jackie. Dobrinsky. Even the Director and the Cleaners. Vic, being Vic, would continue to worry about his sister, but they'd keep a discreet eye on her. Maybe, someday, they'd even be able to contact her. Certainly, they'd do just about anything to keep her from being recruited by the Agency. 

The only thing that really worried Mac was the Agency, itself. They didn't seem like the sort of outfit that let people quit. Leave because they were nuts, or disabled, maybe, but they still controlled them. But two able-bodied agents? Mac knew they'd both be watching their backs for a looong time to come. It was still worth it. 

Strangely enough, he had a song running through his head. Cher. Not his type of music, but she had a great voice. 

Spent a lifetime, finally found someone Gave him all that I had In love, 'til the dream was gone I was losing myself Out in the darkness, alone But the night made me strong, and I learned to let go Time mends the heart, you turn the page, somehow There's no looking back, the hurtin's behind you now 

Starting over again, on a second time around Coming back to win Starting over again, take the first step Let it begin, starting over 

Okay, so what if she'd been singing about starting over after a relationship breaks up. The lyrics still fit _their_ situation to a "T". 

The Captain's voice came over the intercom, and Victor stirred. It was time. Time to start over, back at the beginning. Together. 

THE END of Drowning Sorrows 

* * *


	3. Always a Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with my series, Drowning Sorrows builds around the series John Woo's Once a Thief, and the growing relationship between Victor Mansfield and Mac Ramsey. At the end of the TV series, they were apparently killed in an explosion. In my world, they took the chance to leave the country, heading for Europe, where they made a life for themselves as security experts... and thieves. Always a Thief picks up three years later, when trouble inside the Agency forces the Director to call them in for help, finally admitting that she knew they were still alive. Also drawn in to the trouble is Klaus von dem Eberbach, formerly a Major in NATO Intelligence, now in Interpol. People familiar with the japanese comic (manga) series 'From Eroica With Love' will recognize Klaus. Revenge of the Bolsheviks is the newest book in the Drowning Sorrows series. A mysterious organization kidnaps Mac and the Earl Dorian Red Gloria (also known as the thief Eroica). What are they up to? Starts about six months after the end of Always A Thief. There is also a couple of side stories that falls between Drowning Sorrows and Always a Thief, and I'm sure that there will be more to come.

July 1998  
[email removed]

**Book Two**

Always a Thief 

  
"Hsst. Mac. Hurry it up." 

Mac ignored his partner, who was standing near the study door, keeping an eye out for any unexpected guests. Mac focused on the safe, slowly turning the dial. Vic had learned the skills of a good thief quickly, over the last three years, but when it came to speed and finesse on a lock or safe, Mac still had him beat. If they'd had a larger window of opportunity, though, he would have had Vic try first, for the experience, but they didn't have the time. 

On the other hand, Vic did a _much_ better job than him at electronic security systems, like the one at the DeSalvo compound. 

"Relax, Vic," he said under his breath, starting to turn the dial in the opposite direction. "We _know_ we're not going to be interrupted, the security system is disarmed, and I'll have this safe open in just... a..." He gave the dial a last twist, and the safe door popped open. "A jiff. Damn, I'm good." He pulled out a velvet box, and flipped it open, smiling as he poked at the tumble of gems inside. 

Vic just rolled his eyes, and handed him the bag to fill. Mac didn't bother sorting through the rest of the contents. There would be time to do that when they got home. He just tossed everything into the bag, then shut the safe. He gave the dial a twirl, then carefully returned the setting to its original place. 

"All right," he said, standing up. "Now we can go." 

He took a quick look around the study. It was an impressive display of money and taste. The furniture was all antique, of excellent quality, and Mac knew that the artwork on the walls and pedestals would sell for a pretty penny on the black market. However, he left them where they were, even though some of the smaller pieces would be easy to carry away. The whole point to resetting the safe to its original setting, and re-arming the security system as they left, was to delay the discovery of their safe-cleaning, at least long enough to get out of the country. Senor DeSalvo wouldn't know he'd been had until the next time he opened the safe. 

The trip out of the compound was a breeze. DeSalvo was overseeing an operation in Madrid, so the Barcelona home's security was not as high as it might have been. Vic rearmed the security system, again setting it back _exactly_ the way it had been before. Then they stripped off their gloves and masks and sweaters, sticking them in the same bag as their loot, and they slipped out towards the main streets, just two more American tourists in Spain. 

"So, Vic," Mac said, tucking an arm around his partner's waist. "We've still got three more days in our vacation. Whatever shall we do?" 

Vic grinned at him. "Oh, I'm sure you'll find _something_ for us to do." 

Arm in arm, they headed for the heart of the Barcelona tourist district, and the high-end hotel they were staying in. 

Life was good. 

* * *

"What is the report on the Sherren Op?" 

The Director tapped on her desktop, looking at her two chief aides. Dobrinsky, a large, bald black man, checked his electronic datapad. 

"The Ebola virus was recovered. Gregor Sherren, and two of his men, were killed. None of our agents were injured. The rest of his people are in our custody, currently spilling their guts about everything they know on Sherrin's operations and plans. The virus has been returned to the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta. They were most appreciative." 

"Good." The Director pulled off the wire-rim glasses that she'd had to wear more and more often, recently. She turned to her other aide. 

"And what is the word from Asia?" 

LiAnn frowned. The young Chinese woman was only in her mid-twenties, but her eyes were much older. If an observer looked carefully, they would be able to see the faint tracery of scars near the hairline on one side of her face. More scars could be seen one of her hands, below the long sleeves that she wore now. There were more on her arm and back, beneath her clothing. Three years ago, she might have been wearing a sleeveless top, but since the explosion that had left her scarred, and killed her two partners, she had worn only long-sleeved shirts. The Director had tried to convince her that the scars were barely noticeable, unless you know where to look, but LiAnn refused to be convinced. 

"Director Chiu's death is still keeping things confused. The investigation is ongoing, but it doesn't look like they are going to solve it. It's been nearly a week, without a single valid lead to follow up on." 

Director Chiu, head of the Agency's China and area operations, had been found dead in his own study. The study was at the center of his compound, with only one way in or out. The door was locked, and a guard was standing outside all night. When Chiu didn't emerge, the next morning, the guard had gone in to find the man. His body was slumped over his desk, a dagger in his back. The dagger was a generic make, available world-wide, and it had been scrubbed clean. No inappropriate, or even unexpected, fingerprints had been found in the room, and the security cameras confirmed that no one had gone into the room. Unfortunately, there were no security cameras in Chiu's office, any more than there were in the Director's own. 

"Has there been any response to our offer to send someone to help the investigation?" 

LiAnn snorted. "They said that they were quite capable of running their own investigation, and that we should keep our over-sized, western noses out of their business. The language used was bordering on insulting, without _quite_ crossing over the line." 

The Director sighed. She had hoped that the Asian office might accept, but hadn't really expected them to. They didn't quite understand that an alternative point of view could be a very good thing. But she couldn't force them to accept. All she could do was watch and wait. 

"Now, what about that circus that we think is smuggling stolen plutonium?" 

* * *

Victor was checking their security system, while Mac threw his bags in the corner of the entryway, and headed for the kitchen. Victor shook his head at the mess, but ignored it. 

The system said that there had been no intrusions, so Victor grabbed the discarded bags, and carried them into the main room. Mac was opening up the icebox, pulling out frozen meals. 

With their travel schedule, it just didn't make sense to keep a lot of fresh food in the fridge. Instead, Victor would periodically spend a couple of days making a variety of meals, then freeze them in one-meal sizes. Mac's cooking skills had improved, but Victor still did the majority of their cooking. 

"What do you want?" Mac called through the door. 

"Any of the chicken chili left?" 

"Yep, but I haven't a clue _why_ you'd want to eat that." 

Victor smiled. He had learned to make a variety of authentic Chinese-style dishes to Mac's standards, but he also made the dishes _he_ liked. After all, no one said that Mac had to eat them. That was the reason he did the cooking. While he was willing to cook Mac's favorite dishes (though he drew the line at squid), Mac didn't cook anything that _he_ didn't like. 

Mac emerged, carrying a wine bottle and a couple of glasses. Victor could hear the whir of the microwave heating their meals. Thank god for microwaves. He took the glass that Mac held out to him, and waited for his lover to finish opening the bottle and pour him a glass. One of the benefits of living in the Bordeaux valley—French wine country—was a plentiful supply of excellent wines. Now if only beer were as easy to obtain... 

"Well, let's see what we've got," Mac said, plopping down on the floor next to Victor's chair. Victor pulled over the knapsack with the contents of DeSalvo's safe. 

"Well," he said, pulling it open. "We have this." He pulled out the gem case and opened it up. The majority of the gems were the standard diamonds, no doubt intended to be used as untraceable currency in the European underground. Mixed in among the diamonds were a variety of high-quality sapphires and emeralds. 

Mac pulled out a jeweler's loop to give the gems a closer inspection. After the first couple, he gave a whistle. "Veeerrrry nice stones," he said putting the little eye-piece down. "Those will fetch a pretty price." 

After all, if they were good enough for DeSalvo to use as currency, they were certainly good enough for two high-class thieves, Victor thought to himself. 

The next thing checked were the ledger books, and they were a revelation. "Marseilles. A bordello, with client information, an illegal gambling casino, complete with details on which tables are fixed on a given night. And payments to an assassin for services rendered," he read off. His foreign language skills, especially reading, had improved a lot over the last few years. He put the book aside. The other ledgers would, no doubt, include equally damning information about DeSalvo's crime syndicate. Victor shook his head. How could the man be so smart, running one of the top families in Europe, yet still be stupid enough to have the evidence in writing? And he was willing to bet that it was DeSalvo's own handwriting, too. 

"We'll send these off to Interpol, next time we get the chance," he said, satisfied. Over the years, they had sent similar information in, anonymously. Mac had originally suggested the idea to keep Victor happy, but he thought that Mac got a thrill out of it too, now. Every so often, they would read in the papers about a high-profile arrest or conviction and _know_ that the information they had supplied was crucial in the case. It was a good feeling. 

"Oo, la, la," Mac said, opening one of the thick envelopes that made up the balance of their 'loot'. He pulled out several photographs. Still in the envelope was a video tape. "Get a load of these, Vic. I didn't think someone his age could be that flexible." 

Victor took a look at the picture being held out. It showed a prominent German politician in bed with a beautiful blonde. Unfortunately, said blonde was _not_ his equally prominent society wife. 

"Pack that one up, too. We'll mail it off to the man with a note suggesting that he be a little more discreet in the future." 

"Right." 

Mac continued going through the envelopes. Each was marked with a name and money amount. DeSalvo obviously wasn't above a little blackmail. Some of the envelopes would be sent to the victims. Those were the minor indiscretions. Others would be included in the package that was sent to Interpol, when the indiscretions were of the illegal sort. Victor opened one envelope that fell in the second category. The pictures inside showed a businessman in bed, but this one was frolicking with minor boys. The pictures looked to have been taken during a recent EEC junta to Singapore, which the businessman had been a leader of. If the press found out what he'd been doing while traveling on public funds... 

A ping sounded from the kitchen, and Mac stood up. "Put that away for now," he ordered. "Dinner is ready." 

Dinner was the chicken chili for Victor, and a spicy oriental beef dish for Mac. His lover even insisted on pulling out the fancy chopsticks for it. As always, he paid extravagant compliments to Victor, suggesting that he should open a restaurant. Victor knew he was exaggerating, but the regular compliment did raise his spirits after those photos. 

As they ate, they discussed their next job. It was difficult to make a living as a thief without attracting the wrong sort of attention, so they side-lined as security consultants. In fact, they had reached the point where they could make a pretty good living _just_ as consultants. As a result, their criminal jobs were only a handful over the course of a year, with carefully selected targets. 

This time, they were one of several sets of security specialists providing services at a conference in Amsterdam. The subject of the conference was oil, and there had been bomb threats already. They were to arrange the security for a couple of the formal receptions. All of the preliminaries had been arranged before they had gone to Spain. They wouldn't have bothered with the Spanish job, but a chance to clean out the safe of someone like DeSalvo did not come along very often. So, in two days they would be off to Amsterdam to make final arrangements on the security job. The packages would be mailed from Paris, on their way north. 

But, until then... 

Victor smiled at Mac across the dinner table. His own meal was gone, and Mac was just finishing. With a full stomach, he was starting to feel very relaxed. 

After dinner, by an unspoken but mutual agreement, they did not go back to sorting through DeSalvo's safe contents. Instead, the files were locked in their own safe (which was a lot better concealed. None of this safe-behind-the painting cliche for _them_.). 

Once they were done, they climbed into bed. As Victor stretched out, full length on top of his lover, he breathed a small prayer in thanks. They had plenty of money, a beautiful home, and work that they both _chose_ and enjoyed. Life was good. 

He pressed Mac down, into the mattress, and teased the other man's mouth with his tongue. After nearly four years as lovers, each time they made love was still as exciting as the first. Or at least the first time that they had both been in full possession of their senses. Victor still smiled at the thought that all of this happiness had come about because he had gotten drunk, after being dumped by LiAnn, and dragged his other partner into bed. It had taken time, once he had realized that he was in love with Mac, to convince the other man that he was sincere, but it had been worth the time and effort. 

A thrust upwards from Mac brought him back to the present. Neither one of them had the energy for anything too complicated, so they settled for a slow rubbing, and exchanging of kisses. The rest would wait until they woke, refreshed, in the morning. 

By this point, each of them knew the other's body and reactions as well as they knew their own. Sensitive areas were sought out and manipulated. Much spit was swapped (no matter how unromantic that might sound). Coming was a sweet delight. 

Victor rolled to the side, and reached for the damp cloth that they had left on the bedside table. The worse of the stickiness was cleaned up, then he tossed the cloth into a corner of the room, and wrapped himself around his lover. Mac was already mostly asleep, and rubbed his cheek against Victor's chest, murmuring barely decipherable endearments. Victor rubbed his face against the dark hair, and followed his lover into slumber. 

Life was uncomplicated. 

Life was good. 

That was about to change. 

  
**Hints of Trouble**

LiAnn wandered along the park path, following the Director's lead. Normally, a walk in the park with the older woman would be a pleasant interlude in two hectic lives, but today was different. The first death had changed everything. 

Two more weeks had gone by, and there had been no more movement in the investigation into Chiu's death. In fact, two more directors had been killed, the directors of the South African and South-Western States/ Mexico operations. Security and paranoia inside the Agency had reached an all-time high, and for the Agency, that was pretty damned paranoid. 

In both cases, the same MO was used. Both directors were killed in their own homes, inside apparently locked rooms, using untraceable weapons. One was killed with a Beretta gun, left behind. The second was poisoned. There were hopes that the method the poison was delivered might provide some clues, but LiAnn wasn't holding her breath. 

That was why they were in the park to talk. Each new death reinforced the feeling that the killings were an inside job. Someone who knew all the details of the directors' habits, homes and security. 

They had been discussing options for a while before LiAnn finally asked the one question that had been nagging her for a while. "Di... Just how many directors are there?" 

LiAnn waited while her companion considered whether or not to answer. Over the years, she'd fallen into the habit of calling the woman Di, short for Director. She still didn't know the woman's real name. Back when she had first started working for the Agency, she and the boys had been ordered to work with a teenaged delinquent whose mother had been a friend of the Director's. She had called the woman "Aunt Di", and the name had stuck in LiAnn's mind. 

"Thirteen," the Director finally said. "Two each in Asia, South America, Europe and Africa. One each in Australia and Antarctica. Three in North America." 

Antarctica? LiAnn wondered what there was in Antarctica that the Agency could possibly be interested in, other than a few science stations. 

Unless... The Agency had funded Dr. Fry's research. He had been hired to develop a drug that would create the perfect agent—at least in the Agency's mind. Absolutely no conscience, willing to kill at an order. Di had objected, and fed information to a woman who kept a conspiracy web-page. Because of that, LiAnn and her former partners had ended up shutting Fry down, and destroying his flawed drug. The Director had set Fry to developing an antidote, both for his three human guinea pigs who'd ended up going on a mindless crime spree, and for himself. The 'drogues', as they'd been called, had addicted him to his own drug in order to force him to make more of the drug for them. Maybe the Agency were doing research at the bottom of the world, where there were fewer prying eyes, fewer chances of failures getting loose. LiAnn shivered, slightly. She didn't like that idea. 

"An appropriate number," she said with a wry smile, though. 

The Director grinned at her. "A baker's dozen? Just the right number for a coven? It's been commented on before. But the Head remains above that." 

LiAnn frowned for a moment. "The Head. Where did he come from?" 

"No one is quite sure. We don't even know if it's the same person who founded the Agency, originally. He always wears hooded robes, and uses a voice distorter, so I can't even be sure of the gender. Hell, I can't even be sure that I'm seeing the same person from visit to visit. It might be a group of people. Or a series of people." 

LiAnn was even more disturbed by _that_. They worked for a person or persons unknown? With an agenda they knew nothing about? And the directors _accepted_ it? Considering what a paranoid lot they were, that didn't seem likely. 

"Does the Head have anything to say about the deaths?" 

The Director stopped dead in her tracks, with a worried look on her face. "No one has been able to contact the Head for a while. The last confirmed contact was just before Chiu's death. Since then... nothing." 

LiAnn was starting to get _very_ worried about this. Either the person behind the deaths had managed to take the Head out, either killing or kidnapping the person or persons, or else... 

Or else the Head was the one behind this. But why? 

She told her companion her suspicions, and found the woman unsurprised. 

"You're not the first person to suggest the possibility, but there's not much we can do, at the moment. All we can do is try to track down the person or persons who _committed_ the murders, and hope that leads us to whoever is behind the killings. And step up security even higher, although that doesn't seem to be doing much good." LiAnn nodded. 

They had reached the center of the park. Families wandered around, enjoying the sunny afternoon. Children were sailing their toy sailboats in the fountain. The picnic tables were all occupied. It was all so normal. 

But that can change quickly. 

Shots rang out. A man standing near the two women went down, blood flowing from the hole in his chest. LiAnn grabbed the Director, and pulled her to the ground, covering her. Frantically, she tried to figure out where the shots were coming from. People were running in panic. LiAnn heard two more shots, and a woman went down. LiAnn noted, in the back of her mind, that the woman was dressed in a style similar to what the Director was wearing. 

The second shot let her find the shooter. He was running. LiAnn got up and took off after him, gun drawn. As she reached the parking lot, she saw a car pulling out onto the street at high speed. It was too far away to read the license plate. In the distance, she heard the screech of tires, as the shooter narrowly avoided an accident. She was a little confused, though. If this was related to the murders, then whoever had arranged this had decided to change his or her pattern. This attempt did _not_ match the MO of the other killings. 

"This is not good," panted the Director as she caught up with LiAnn, seeming to echo her thoughts. High-heels were not a good idea when running. "Not good at all. We need more help. Outside help." 

LiAnn turned at the strange tone in the other woman's voice. 

"We need Mac and Victor." 

* * *

Mac stood at the edge of the ballroom, in a position where he would have a perfect view of every entrance. The guards that he and Vic had hired for this were all in their proper positions and alert. These were people that they had met in their early days in Europe, when they worked as bodyguards, and every one of them was someone that the two of them trusted. 

Mac adjusted his tuxedo jacket, and set out to make another circuit. The scanners were working properly, scanning for weapons made of either metal or carbon-fiber. Carbon-fiber guns and knives had been popular with terrorists for a while, but the technicians had finally found a way to scan for them, and their was use declining. Things were stable, now. At least until the _next_ new weapon was developed. 

"Anything, Jacques?" he murmured in an ear. 

"Non, Matt. Other than the environmentalist with a balloon filled with oil that she wanted to throw at the Exxon president, it's been quiet." 

"Good." He continued on his circuit. Exxon was getting a lot of flack in the world press, lately. Yet another one of their oil tankers had run aground, spilling tons of oil into the ocean eco-system. They were blaming the captain, and trying to get out of doing more than the sketchiest of cleanups. Just one more reasons why this conference had so much security. 

He checked with the rest of the guards stationed at the room's entrances, and checked to make sure that all the doors to the building, other that the main door, were closed, locked and the security systems armed. 

When he and Vic had arrived in Europe, and had gone into the security business, they had decided that they couldn't exactly use their real names. Instead, they had built identities under new name, making sure that if they slipped and used their real names, no one would notice. So Mac had become Matthew Blake, Matt for short, and Vic had become Richard Thornton, Dick for short. Mac and Vic. Matt and Dick. It had worked, so far. 

Mac had just finished his rounds when Vic arrived. His partner had been out to check one of their mail drops. Mac stopped for a moment to admire the way that the older man filled out his tux. Vic didn't go in for the dressy clothing the way Mac did, but he looked _damn_ good. They met near the buffet table. 

"Nothing much. A letter from Alice, though," Vic said, not waiting for Mac to ask the obvious question. 

Alice was Vic's little sister, one of the few people they'd kept in touch with since leaving the Agency. About a year after their "deaths", they'd contacted her through the aid group she was working with in Indonesia. Despite her frequent moves, and their secrecy, Vic had managed to keep in touch with his sister through the occasional letter. 

"What's she up to now?" Mac asked, with a smile. "Building bridges in Bangkok? Disarming landmines in Croatia?" 

Vic frowned. "Don't even joke about it. Actually, she's back in Canada, going to University." 

"Really?" Mac was surprised. Alice, or Allegra as she preferred to be called, had been avoiding school as much as possible in the time since he'd met her. She said that the school system was designed to churn out happy little consumers, and she wanted nothing to do with it. "What is she studying?" 

"Political Sciences." 

Mac could feel his jaw drop in amazement, and Vic's grin said that he looked as shocked as he felt. Mac knew few people who were more anti-establishment than his sister-in-law, as he liked to refer to her as. 

"My reaction too. She says she wants to 'know her enemy'." 

Mac grinned in relief. "Now _that_ sounds like her." 

As they made a pass through the room, Mac noticed something that disturbed him. One of the photographers that had been allowed into the reception, was sweating. Now, it _was_ warm in the room, but this guy was almost dripping. And he was fidgeting more than would be normally expected. 

"Vic," he whispered in his partner's ear. "See the guy over there in the brown suit and orange tie?" He paused to shudder at the image the man made. He had always loved fine clothes, and the man's fashion sense offended him, highly. Vic took a brief look, careful not to be obvious about it. He was a lot better at that than he used to be, too. 

"I see him. He's a little _too_ nervous, isn't he?" 

"Definitely." Mac split off, with a nod, and went to talk to one of the roving guards. When he went back to Vic's side, the guard started to ease his way towards the reporters' section. 

Unfortunately, the man was _so_ nervous, that he noticed, and assumed the worse. Of course, he _was_ right about that. 

"Hold it!" the man screeched, twisting the lens off of his camera. As silence fell across the room, he gave the sections of the lens a twist, and Mac could faintly hear the ticking of a timer. 'Not a bomb!' he groaned to himself. 'How the hell did he get _that_ past the scanners?' 

At that moment, the guard coming up on the nutcases _other_ side tackled the man, and he lost his grip on the lens... bomb... whatever. Screams could be heard as it rolled across the floor. While Vic tackled the downed man, Mac grabbed the lens/bomb and ran for the balcony doors. As he remembered, there was a pool right below the balcony, and there was no one in or around it. He tossed the bomb, then hit the ground, covering his head. A moment later, he was soaked by the water thrown up by the explosion. 

When he lifted his head and looked around, he found that no one had been hurt. The nutcase was already being carted away by the constabulary. Checking over the edge of the balcony, he winced at the sight of the damage to the pool. The host was _not_ going to like _that_ , and the insurance company was probably going to make _them_ pay for it. Oh well, he sighed to himself. At least they had the money for it. 

"Matt! Are you okay?" Vic called, heading for him, managing to remember to use the right name. 

Mac gave a wry nod. "I'm fine. You?" 

Vic snarled. "I'm pissed off. We're going to have to figure out just _how_ he got that thing past us. This does not look good." 

Mac sighed, then looked over to where the would-be bomber had been standing. He was greeted by a storm of flashes from the photographers standing there. 

"Shit." 

"No kidding," Vic said. Three years of avoiding publicity, keeping their faces out of the papers and news. But now... now they weren't going to be able to avoid it. All they could do was pray that the wrong people didn't see it. 

* * *

LiAnn was staring out the window when the pilot announced that they were about to land in Paris. Despite the long flight from Toronto, she was still wide awake. Her mind was turning over too quickly to let her sleep. What the hell was she doing in Europe? 

Looking for two dead men, it seemed. 

  
**Lost and Found**

"This is your suite, Mademoiselle Tsei. Enjoy your stay." The young man set down her bags and waited, with an expectant look on his face. 

LiAnn gave the bellhop a generous tip, then turned around to face the room. It was lush and expensive, as befitted the five-star hotel that the Director had checked her into in Paris, but she didn't really see the room, or the view from the window. 

Instead, she was back in the park, the day before. 

* * *

"What do you mean, we need Mac and Victor? In case your memory is playing tricks on you, they're _dead_." LiAnn flinched at her own words, and without noticing it, she reached with her hand to caress one of the scars on her other arm. In her mind, she could still hear Victor yelling for them to run, followed by the roar of the explosion. This was followed by pain, and unclear images until she woke in the hospital, more than a day later. 

The Director looked uneasy. For once, she seemed to be having trouble meeting LiAnn's eyes. 

"Maybe not. There were things I didn't tell you. We... never found their bodies. Now, the fire was extremely hot, and they might have been so thoroughly cremated that there _were_ no remains to find, but..." 

"But what?" LiAnn demanded in a tight voice. She was having trouble believing that she was hearing this. 

"Both the boys had caches. Money, fake ids, clothing, in case they ever decided to leave. They probably thought we didn't know about them, but I knew exactly where they were. A day after the explosion, Dobrinsky decided to check them. They had been cleaned out." 

LiAnn was beginning to wish she was sitting down, but the Director continued. "We still didn't have any proof of _who_ cleaned out their getaway funds, but I _wanted_ to believe it was them." 

The Director sighed, then started heading for her car. "The boys never made any attempt to hide the fact that they didn't want to work for the Agency. Hell, I blackmailed them into it. Subtle, and not-so-subtle threats, promises. And you were all at that warehouse because of me. I should have gone along with the three of you, with the idea of setting a trap for Pouchie. If they were dead, it was my fault. So... If they were alive, and leaving, I decided to give them that chance. I had Dobrinsky erase all traces of them from the Agency's files. I couldn't completely protect them, but I could do whatever was possible." 

LiAnn was shocked, partly by the revelation and partly by the open sorrow of her companion's face. The Director had a reputation for being cold and manipulative, and while she knew that wasn't completely true, Di was a master in managing people, and her own emotions. 

"Is there any evidence that they _are_ alive?" she asked 

"A couple of agents have said they saw two men who _looked_ like Mac and Victor, when they were on assignment in Europe. And there have been pictures of dignitaries where the bodyguards in the background _might_ have been them. But no, there's not _definite_ proof." 

"But why didn't you _tell_ me?" LiAnn demanded, pulling up short as they got near the Director's limo. "Didn't I have the right to know?" 

The Director looked up into her face, and LiAnn wondered what was showing there. Di took her arm and steered her towards a nearby bench. 

"There were a lot of reasons not to, and I still don't know if they were right. You were badly injured, and looking at months of rehabilitation, and you didn't need any more shocks. There was no _proof_ that they were alive, and I didn't want to raise your hopes. And... if they _were_ alive, they had chosen to leave. Leave the Agency, and leave _you_. You were depressed enough, and I didn't know how you would react." 

Di sat down next to her and started stroking the back of her hand, where it lay on her thigh. It was soothing, and she found herself grateful for the contact. While she was angry that she had been left grieving for three years, without cause, she could understand the reasoning. Hell, she might have done the same thing in Di's place. 

"Maybe I should have told you later, but you had... adjusted, and I wasn't sure how you would react." Then she stood, and headed for the car. "But this situation isn't good. We're all in danger. The _Agency_ is in danger, and no matter what you might think of its methods, it does good. We need help, and two men that are believed dead are _exactly_ what we need." 

She turned back to face LiAnn. "We believe that three years ago, Mac and Victor headed for Paris first. I want you to go there, and track them down. Tell them that I am _asking_ for their help. And if they say no..." 

She turned to open the limo door. 

"If they say no, come home. We'll figure _something_ out." 

* * *

LiAnn pulled a change of clothing from her suitcase, and went to shower. She stood under the warm spray and wondered what she would say to Mac and Victor, assuming she found them. The Director was right about one thing. She did feel abandoned by the fact that they had never bothered to contact her. Three years, without a word. She would have thought that they were closer than that. 

Still feeling jetlagged, but far more relaxed, LiAnn headed back to the sitting room to plan her next move. All she had were rumors of sightings. It was going to take a minor miracle to find two men in Europe. Especially two men who didn't _want_ to be found. 

She ordered room-service, and picked up one of the Paris newspapers, left by the hotel for their guests, to read while she waited. The picture on the first page nearly made her choke. 

Mac. Sopping wet. Wearing a tuxedo. And Victor in the background. 

She scanned through the article, translating from the French easily. There had been an attempted hostage-taking at a meeting of oil companies and producers in Amsterdam the night before. A radical environmentalist had managed to sneak a new type of grenade in, disguised as a camera lens, using legitimate press credentials. He had been thwarted by the quick thinking and reflexes of Matthew Blake, a security consultant. Blake and his partner, Richard Thornton, were in charge of the security at the reception where the incident occurred. 

Matthew and Richard. Matt and Dick. Mac and Vic. How appropriate. 

Well, she'd been thinking that it would take a miracle, and here it was. She had her starting point. 

There was a knock at her door. Breakfast had arrived. She signed the slip for it, and sat down to start eating. She didn't really taste the gourmet fare, though. She was too busy making notes about her next move. 

* * *

Mac opened the door, and Victor disarmed their security system. It had been a long week. Talking to the Dutch police, the conference organizers. Figuring out how the man had gotten an explosive device past all the security scanners. 

It was quite ingenious, in fact. To a scanner, the lens looked like just that. A camera lens. But twisting one of the parts, as though focusing the camera, was the equivalent of pulling the pin from a grenade. There was no way that conventional scanners would have caught it. 

And then there were the other two receptions that they were providing security for. They'd had to come up with a few new twists to make sure that no more grenades-in-disguise made it in. They weren't really surprised that everything had gone smoothly. After all, who in their right mind would try something after a failed attempt? But paranoia had already been raised to new heights. 

Victor turned from the control panel, just as Mac dropped their laundry bag in a corner of the hallway. It could wait. He couldn't. 

"I swear," Mac was grumbling. "If I don't see a tux for three months, it'll still be too soon." 

Victor growled in agreement—although it wasn't something he heard from his clothes-horse partner very often—and pinned the unresisting man against a handy wall. God, but he loved the man. Mac just snorted, and grabbed the back of Victor's head, then pulled him in and kissed him hard. 

"I kinda figured you'd be horny. Danger always does that to you, and we haven't had the time for more than a quickie since the reception. So... Are we going to the bedroom, or do want me right here?" 

"Right here, I think," he replied with a grin. 

He dived in again to capture that gorgeous, grinning, seductive mouth, and was just starting to rub against the increasingly aroused body of his partner, pulling at his shirt buttons, when they heard a throat clear. 

Both of them drawing their guns, they whirled towards the living room door. They stood in shock at the sight. For long moments, no one made a sound. Finally Mac spoke up, one hand coming up to pull his shirt closed. 

"LiAnn?" 

* * *

Mac tumbled into bed, feeling like he'd just gone three rounds with a heavy-weight boxer. Physically, he was rested and strong. Mentally... 

Vic joined him, crawling under the covers. Mac rolled over, into his lover's arms. LiAnn had left for the night, gone back to her hotel. They hadn't given her their answer yet, but Vic had already said he wanted to go, and Mac had reluctantly agreed. Still, he was uneasy. 

"Are we doing the right thing?" 

"I... don't know," Vic replied. "I just know that it's what I need to do. You don't have to come, Mac." 

Mac glared at him, then gave him a gentle slap to the side of the head. "Riiight. Like I'm going to let you go back to Canada on your own. I don't think so. Wither thou goest, love, and all that bullshit." 

Mac smiled at Vic, but the smile faded. Coming home to find LiAnn waiting for them had completely disrupted the new life they had built together. Hearing that the Director had known they were alive, and had covered up for them had been surprising, but not completely so. And... gratifying, knowing that she cared so much. But it was still scary, just how easily they had been found. 

Hearing about the problems _within_ the Agency... Directors killed. _Their_ director the target of a near assassination... 

Mac sighed. Vic was right. They _needed_ to do this. Sure, they hadn't wanted to work for the Agency. They'd taken the first chance they got to get away. After all, the Director had threatened to have the prison release Mac onto the streets of Hong Kong, where his life expectancy would have been measured in minutes. And Vic... well, the life of a cop in prison was about the same, which is why he'd been in solitary when she'd seen him. 

But it had given them a second chance. An opportunity to do good, even though it often seemed more like almost an accidental by-product of what the Agency did. And... it had brought them together. If it hadn't been for the Agency, they probably would have never even met, and Mac shuddered at the thought. 

But still, that was a part of their lives that they thought that they'd put behind them permanently, and he was still resenting the intrusion. 

"You know," he told Vic, rolling on top of the older man. "You have this depressing habit of being right. We do owe her, and while I don't give a shit about what happens to the Agency, I do care about what happens to the people. The Director, LiAnn, Nathan, Murphy and Camier, Jackie. Hell, I even care about what happens to _Dobrinsky_!" Vic snorted at the fake tone of amazement that Mac was using. 

"So we both go?" Vic asked. 

"We both go," Mac confirmed, then dipped his head for a lingering kiss. 

"Now... where were we?" 

Mac looked at the wall, above the headboard of their deliberately over-sized bed. He cocked his head to the side. "About to take a nap?" 

Victor snickered. 

"Doing the two weeks worth of laundry?" 

Vic rolled them over, and started nibbling at the sensitive skin beneath his left ear. "Try again, gorgeous." 

"I know!" Mac said brightly. "About to have some nuclear-meltdown sex?" 

"Bingo," Vic growled, before kissing him senseless. 

Mac stretched and purred, as Vic slowly rubbed his body all over his partner's. Sometimes Mac wondered why he was never bothered at being held down by Vic. You would think that it would give him panic attacks, considering the ways that his foster-brother Michael had restrained him, back when they were teens. In fact, with his bad experiences, it was a wonder that he was able to even think of having sex with another man at all. 

But it wasn't _just_ another man. It was Vic. Vic, who had saved his life countless times. Vic, who was endlessly patient with him while he _was_ still getting over the memories. Vic, who loved him in ways he didn't know were possible. 

Vic, who _he_ loved in ways he didn't even know he was capable of. Mac had been in love with LiAnn, back before they left the Tang Family, but what he had felt for her paled in comparison to what he felt for Vic. 

Mac smiled. "Have I told you lately just how much I love you?" 

"Hmmm. Yes, but I can never hear it often enough," Vic replied. Then he was slithering down Mac's body, going for maximum contact all the way, until he reached the erection that was arching up over Mac's belly. "Of course, this fellow tells me every day," he added. 

Mac gasped as Vic's breath caressed his cock. Warm air was followed by a warmer tongue, which bathed every square millimeter of flesh. After more than three years of learning his reactions, Vic was far too good at this. He knew just what touches and caresses would reduce Mac to quivering jelly, something he did on a regular basis. 

"Vic..." he breathed, then yelped as his partner's mouth descended to swallow him whole. "Oh god, Vic. Please." 

His partner raised his head, a wicked grin on his face. "Please what, Mac?" he asked, tracing lazy pattern's on Mac's balls with a fingertip. 

Mac didn't have the breath to answer, so he simply spread his legs, in an open invitation that he knew Vic would never turn down. 

And he didn't. Lube was retrieved from the bedside table, and Vic prepared them both, ever so carefully. Then he was pressing in, filling the space that always felt empty when they were apart. Mac had trouble remembering that there had ever been a time when this had scared the hell out of him. 

But now... Now the only thing better than having Vic inside him this way was being inside Vic. It was perfect. It was right. It was everything he wanted. And he was scared that he might lose it. 

* * *

Mac lay in bed, curled up against Vic, looking out into the darkness. He should sleep. In the morning they would be packing for the trip to Canada. But sleep wouldn't come. 

In a way, making love tonight had been like saying goodbye to their home. They'd gotten away from the Agency once. Who knew if they would again. And even if they did return to Europe, it probably wouldn't be safe to come back to this house. They'd been found here once, after all. 

They'd been so happy here, and Mac worried that they wouldn't have another chance like this again. 

He spooned up around Vic, waiting for the dawn to come and worrying. Nothing would ever be the same. 

  
**Questions and Answers**

The Director shuffled the papers in front of her. She hated keeping information on paper, but it was safer than electronics now. 

"Any trace on the hacker who nearly got in?" She asked the blonde sitting in front of her. Jackie Janczyk shook her head. 

"Nothing. Nathan is still working on it. All he can tell us at this point is that the person was trying to get into the personnel files. He's also working at beefing up our firewall, whatever that is." 

The Director gave a small smile. Jackie still stuck to her old image of the teenaged valley girl mob queen, but in the three and a half years since the Agency had brought her in, after bringing her down. But despite the act, the girl was brilliant. She soaked up knowledge, the way a sponge soaked up water. If she ever started picking up decent people-skills, she would be a force to be reckoned with. But after her attempt to take over the Janczyk Family had ended with her in jail, and the family dissolved, she avoided leadership roles at all costs. 

"If he finds out _anything_ , I want to know," the Director said, tapping one fingernail on the desktop. She was starting to feel very uncomfortable. In the week since the attempt on her life, she had kept to the headquarters, rarely leaving except to go home and sleep. Between Jackie and Dobrinsky, she was almost never left alone. She was beginning to feel like a rat in a maze, and she did _not_ like the feeling. 

And the fact that personnel files were targeted might indicate that someone out there knew just what she was doing. Who she was calling on for help. 

Jackie nodded. "Any word yet from LiAnn?" she asked, careful not to say anything about where LiAnn was, or why she had gone. 

"She'll be back tomorrow evening," the Director respond, a faint tone of satisfaction creeping into her voice. Jackie grinned back at her. 

It wasn't just that LiAnn was the one person able to rein in the Director when she was off and running, according to Jackie and Dobrinsky. The fact that she was coming back after only a week said that she had found Mac and Victor. And the tone in her voice when she had called had told the Director that she was successful in convincing them to come back with her. 

The Director was looking forward to seeing both men again. It wasn't just that she needed their help. It wasn't even the fact that she was attracted to both men. She smiled briefly at the memory of how much fun it had been to tease Mac, even though he was obviously uncomfortable and embarrassed by the attention. And it wasn't even the need to apologize for the last time they had been together, when she had almost gotten them killed because her own pride wouldn't let her take on Pouchie in a more sensible way. 

No. She wanted to see what sort of men they had become on their own. What were they doing. Were they still happy together. If she didn't know better, she'd think that she was taking an almost _maternal_ interest in their lives, and maternal was the last word _anyone_ would ever use to describe her. 

Maybe, when all this was over, they wouldn't cut themselves off quite so thoroughly again. Somehow she doubted she'd be able convince them to come back to work for the Agency, though. 

Then she grinned to herself. She was going to have to find something... special to wear to their reunion. Something _very_ special. 

* * *

LiAnn wandered through the house that the two men shared, wondering at how much a _home_ it seemed. Back when they were in the Agency, the boys had both lived in apartments assigned to them, just like she did. Those apartments had never felt like more than a temporary resting place. This house was home. 

But this place... To those accustomed to modern hotels and condominiums, it would probably look shabby, but LiAnn found herself envious. It was a small stone cottage that they had updated to modern times. The plumbing, electrical and security systems were all top of the line. But the floors were stone, covered in worn rugs that looked like they'd been found a flea markets. The walls were whitewashed plaster, cracked in spots. The fireplace obviously got used a lot, as did the modern kitchen. Victor was out back, making sure that the generator was fueled, and ready to pick up in case of a power outage while they were gone. 

LiAnn wandered into the one bedroom, where Mac was packing their bags for the trip. She could see the signs of domesticity there, especially. The armoire was open, and there didn't seem to be any separation between Mac's clothes and Victor's. On a table, up against the wall, were pictures of the two of them together, all over Europe. Mixed in were pictures of Victor's little sister. LiAnn started feeling a little upset again, when she realized that some of those pictures had to have been taken since they had left the Agency. Why had they kept in contact with Alice, but never let _her_ know that they were even alive? 

"Hey, LiAnn. We'll be ready in a couple minutes," Mac called from the bathroom that was obviously an add-on to the bedroom. He came out and dropped two shaving kits, and other toiletries on the bed. LiAnn found herself blushing when she recognized a tube of lubricant and condoms in the jumble. She picked up the tube, then looked at Mac. 

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked. "Why did I have to find out from _Jackie_ that you two were... together?" 

Mac blinked at her in surprise. "Jackie? How the hell did she know?" 

"The business with the Rivers. Did you think we showed up in time to save you by accident? The Director was suspicious, so she assigned Jackie to monitor you. Did you know the apartments were bugged? Anyway, she got more of an earful than she expected. Later on, she got me to listen in. I think she just wanted to upset me." 

Mac frowned at the suitcase lying open on the bed. "Damn. We swept for bugs and cameras on a regular basis. I guess we missed one." 

"But why didn't you _tell_ me? I thought we were friends, at least. Did you think I'd be upset?" 

Mac sat down on the bed, and patted the spot beside him. LiAnn sat down next to him. "It's a little hard to explain." 

LiAnn waited patiently while Mac collected his thoughts. 

"The first time we ended up in bed together was the night you... dumped Vic. He got drunk, and I took him home. The next thing I knew, he was dragging me into bed. He didn't remember anything the next morning, so I thought that was it. 

"But he figured it out, and decided he wanted a relationship. Basically, he seduced me. Pursued me until I gave in. But for the longest time, I told myself it was just sex. A fuck-buddy sort of relationship. It took a while for him to convince me that he really _was_ in love with me. I finally figured out that I was in love with _him_ when I was stuck in the coffin, listening to the gunfire, wondering if I was going to be shipped to Hong Kong. 

"We were going to tell you, after that. We had both decided we were in it for the long haul. But before we could, Michael turned up, and everything went crazy. Then we had the chance to go, and we took it. 

"The only person we got in contact with was Vic's sister, cause we knew she wouldn't tell anyone." Mac smiled. "She's got this major distrust for _anything_ organized. Especially secret government agencies. But contacting you would have been too dangerous. Besides... we weren't sure that you'd _want_ to hear from us." 

"Of course I did! I spent three years grieving!!" At least Mac had the decency to look ashamed at that. Then he continued. 

"And along with everything else, at the end, there was Michael. You were so ready to trust him. Anything I said, you chalked up to me being hostile towards him, but I couldn't tell you why. You wouldn't have believed me." 

"Believe what?" LiAnn asked, feeling cold at the slightly pained look on her former brother/lover/partner's face. 

"Back when we were teenagers, before you and I happened, Michael and I were... well, I lovers is _not_ the right term for it. What he did to me had _nothing_ to do with love. It was pain and domination and a lot of other things, but it was _not_ love." 

LiAnn blanched. She could _not_ be hearing this. Mac stood up and started packing the last of his and Victor's bags. 

"It ended about the time I convinced Father to let me have my own place. I said 'no' a couple of times, and Michael lost interest. You and I became lovers." He looked up at her. "That was why I worked so hard to convince you to leave with me. I _knew_ what sort of a person Michael was. I didn't want to go through the same sort of thing that I did. 

"So there I was. Ready to tell you about me and Vic. But Michael turns up, and you were so ready to believe he was telling the truth, that he had reformed, and I couldn't trust him. But if I told you, I was sure you'd say I was lying. Either that or try to convince me that he had changed that part of his personality too. Hell, he even had _Vic_ fooled briefly, and Vic _knew_ about what he'd done to me. But I couldn't believe that he'd really changed. 

"You know," he said, zipping the carry-on bags and closing the suitcase. "Vic and I figure that he was the one behind Chang getting out of jail and into Canada. After all, the Tangs have the power to arrange that sort of thing, and Michael knew better than anyone else how to find me." 

"I... never thought of that," LiAnn said, head reeling. She didn't want to believe this, but it made too much sense. He was right about Michael having the power and knowledge to set Chang after Mac, and when she thought about it, she could remember strange moods, sudden temper flares and all the signs of stress in Mac, back when they were still teens being trained as thieves. How could she have not known? How could she have been so blind? She went to Mac, and wrapped her arms around him. She couldn't think of anything to say. After a moment, Mac returned the hug. 

There was a cough from the door, and they turned to see Victor. LiAnn was worried, for a moment, that he might be upset to see his lover with his arms around their mutual ex-lover, but he was smiling. "Ready to go, folks?" he said, heading to pick up the suitcase from the bed. He stopped briefly to give LiAnn a hug, and Mac a kiss. It wasn't an 'I want to fuck you' kiss. It was just an 'I love you' little kiss, the sort you see married couples exchanging. LiAnn felt a brief surge of jealousy, again. 

"Yep," Mac said, picking up the carry-on bags. "Let's go." 

They stopped at the door, while Victor armed the security system, then they climbed in the car for the drive to Paris and the international airport there. 

* * *

LiAnn accepted a drink from the flight attendant with a smile, then sank back into her seat. The plane was mid-way over the Atlantic, headed for Toronto. Mac and Victor were also en-route, but taking a different route, in case she was being watched. 

She was still amazed that she had actually found them. If it hadn't been for that one news article, she might not have. She was also surprised that they had actually agreed to come back to North America. 

They were so obviously happy together, here. They'd made a home, and a life. She gave a small smile, thinking about that life. Security consultants, she could understand. Finding out that they also worked at thieves had left her with an undignified case of the giggles. She hadn't giggled like that since she was a child, and that was a very long time ago. 

And the Robin Hood part of it... Targeting criminals and sending evidence to Interpol. That was so much like both of them. Victor would do because he had been a cop. Mac would do it for the sheer flamboyance of it. It was just so appropriate for the both of them. 

She was glad that they'd kept up their skills, though. What was waiting for them, back in Canada, was going to be a test of everything they knew, everything they were. 

She just prayed that they were _all_ up to it. 

  
**Travel Plans by Lianne Burwell**

Mac tried to relax into his plane seat, but coach was not exactly a place for being comfortable. Not that it seemed to be bothering Vic. His partner could sleep anywhere. He looked adorable when he was asleep, too. His hair all spiky, and his mouth just slightly agape, soft snoring noises coming from it. 

LiAnn was probably already in Toronto, flying direct and first class. But they had all worried that they might be watched, so Mac and Vic were taking a more circuitous route. They had driven to Berlin, and flown on a commuter flight to London. From there is was a cross-Atlantic flight to Dallas. Now they were flying coach from Dallas to Montreal, where they would rent a car for the drive to Toronto. Mac was hoping that Vic would agree to stopping for the night in the hotel at Mirabel Airport, because by the time they landed, he was going to be wiped. Vic, though, was probably going to be completely rested. 

"Mac, relax." 

Mac jumped in his seat as the hand came to rest on his. He had thought that Vic was completely asleep. 

"Sorry. You know I hate to fly." 

Vic gave a little laugh. "Liar. You're worrying. You do it all the time, until when we're on the job. You were a born worrier. It's going to be all right." 

"How can you say that?" Mac said, twisting in his seat to look at his partner. "It took a miracle to get away from the Agency before, but now we're walking right back into the lion's den. They won't let us get away twice." 

"You don't know that. The Director let us go once. Now she wants our help. I think she'll let us go a second time." 

Mac slumped back. "If she has any say in the matter. I'm not going to go back to working for them again, Vic. I won't." 

The hand holding his tightened, and Vic reached over with his other hand to turn Mac's face towards him. "I know. I feel the same way. But whatever happens, we do it together, right? You and me." 

Mac found a faint smile inside of himself. "You and me," he replied, then leaned over to kiss Vic. 

It was a long, leisurely kiss. Reassurance, love, passion and friendship, all mixed together with a healthy dose of tongue. Mac could hear the jerk in the seat across the aisle making gagging noises, but he didn't give a shit. 

Finally, they broke apart and just looked at each other for a long moment. Then they were interrupted. 

"Would you like something to drink before we serve dinner?" 

Mac turned to the stewardess to order. He needed a stiff one. It was going to be a _long_ flight. 

* * *

LiAnn dropped her suitcase in a corner, then threw herself into an armchair. She was exhausted. Long flights always tired her out. Not to mention the fact that she hadn't been able to sleep at all. She'd been playing the conversation with Mac in her mind, over and over again. 

"Did you find them?" 

She turned her head to look at the Director, who was standing at the bedroom door. 

"Yes. They'll be here in a few days. They decided to take a different route, just in case. Any news here?" 

"There's been another attempt. This one unsuccessful. The director for Western Europe was nearly killed in her study. That attempt matches the MO of the killings. Her department works from an underground complex beneath an office building in downtown London. Only one entrance, guarded. She went into her office, through the only door, and sat down. Then she was attacked from behind. 

"Unlike the others, she was able to fight her attacker off long enough to scream for help. When her guards came through the door, the attacker let go of her and rushed them. He got past, into the hallway, then disappeared. They're still not sure how he got out." 

"He? They're sure it was a man?" 

"As sure as they can be. He was built like a man, but that could be a disguise. He was dressed in black, with a ski mask, so the only description they had was that he was about 5'11". Other than that, still no clues." 

LiAnn sighed. She had been hoping that _something_ would have been discovered while she was away. The guys were going to be walking into a minefield without even a metal detector, at this rate. 

"So, how are the boys?" 

The Director's voice was a study in non-chalance, but LiAnn wasn't fooled. 

"Happy. Together. Not happy about coming back, but they feel that they owe it to you." 

"I'm glad. That they're happy, that is. What about you?" 

LiAnn closed her eyes. "Conflicted. Glad that they're alive. Angry that they never told me. Glad that they're happy. Jealous at how happy they are. Upset at myself for being blind. Did you know about what happened between Mac and Michael?" 

The Director sighed. "I had my suspicions. It didn't stop me from being fooled by Michael, though. You can't blame yourself for not knowing. Michael was a master of deception, and Mac... well, Mac was very good at hiding his emotions." 

"Not any more. The Mac I saw this week was very open. Confident, where he used to be brash. Showing his emotions, where he used to hide behind walls so well constructed that you didn't even realize that that was what you were really seeing. He's changed a lot, and for the better." 

LiAnn felt a hand reach to cup her cheek. "Can you work with them? If you can't, say so, and I'll let Jackie be their contact." 

She leaned into the hand, eyes still closed. "That... might be a good idea. I hope there won't be a problem, but I don't know. I don't think I'd be working at full efficiency around them." 

"Fine. Of course, admitting that is the first step to dealing with it." 

LiAnn opened her eyes to look at the woman crouched in front of her. "How did you get so wise?" she asked, only slightly sarcastic. The Director smiled at her. 

"Experience. Lots and lots of experience." She leaned forward and brushed her lips against LiAnn's. 

LiAnn didn't respond for a moment, then melted into the offered embrace. This wasn't what she had expected in life. It wasn't even what she had expected, before that nightmarish stay in the hospital, when she had felt like she was carved from ice. After her release, she hadn't been able to take care of herself yet. Instead of insisting that she move in with Jackie, again, Di had brought her home. For the next few months, she had personally made sure that LiAnn ate, did her exercises, went to her therapy sessions, both physical and mental. And when LiAnn woke in the middle of the night, screaming from the nightmares, the Director was there to hold her, comfort her. That was when she'd gradually moved to calling the woman Di. 

Maybe she should have seen it coming. In retrospect, Di had obviously made no attempts to hide her interest in LiAnn. But LiAnn had only seen a motherly/bossly interest in making her the best agent she could be. Then one night, after a particularly bad nightmare, Di had held her, stroked her, murmured reassurances, and finally kissed her. 

Maybe, under other circumstances, she would have refused. But the nightmare was too fresh, and the comfort was too welcome. They had slept together before, but that night was the first time that they had _slept_ together. 

Momentarily lost in her memories, she almost didn't notice as her lover pulled her to her feet, and led her to the bedroom. Slowly, she was undressed, then pressed back into the bed. Soon she was joined by an equally naked body. Sometimes she wondered what the Director's motivation was for this, but usually she didn't care. When she needed her, Di was there. 

She was being kissed again. A gentle control, unlike a man's kiss. The flesh that pressed against her was firm, but rounder, softer. The lips moved down her neck, carefully tracing the path of her scars. She hated them, but Di made them feel beautiful, a proper part of her, if only for a while. 

The lips continued on to suckle at her breasts, coaxing her nipples to full hardness. She twisted on the sheets, gasping. She could already feel the pressure building, as finger reached for her clit. The small nub was stroked and rolled between fingers, before a mouth descended, and a tongue began its magic. 

She could feel her orgasm building. Her toes curled, and her muscles tightened. Then she cried out as everything seemed to pulse. 

She lay gasping, as Di moved up to kiss her. She could taste herself there. And after a moment's rest, she was ready to return the favor. 

* * *

Klaus von dem Eberbach of Interpol sat at his desk, smoking a cigarette while he read the report sitting in front of him. Word had just come in that two surveillance targets had left Europe for North America. Normally, he wouldn't care. After all, the Americas were outside his jurisdiction. But these two... 

Matthew Blake and Richard Thornton were definitely an unusual case. They were thieves, but their targets came exclusively from the criminal classes. They had been tentatively linked to break-ins at the homes of the heads of several of Europe's most powerful crime families. Interestingly enough, within a month or two of those break-ins, information on those syndicates' operations arrived at Interpol headquarters in anonymous packages, complete with proof. No two packages were mailed from the same city, but the connection was obvious to those who were looking. 

Interpol was looking, and after the third package, they made the connection. At that point, Eberbach was assigned the case file. 

Eberbach grimaced at the file. He thought that he'd gotten away from this sort of thing when he'd transferred to Interpol from the Intelligence branch of NATO. In Interpol, he could concentrate on putting thieves behind bars, he'd thought, not working _with_ them. 

But here he was again. Told not to interfere with _two_ thieves, this time. They were too useful to put behind bars, he was told. And they were gay, too. At least they seemed focused on each other. The last thing he needed was another... 

Never mind that. He preferred not to think about _that_ little problem. 

But now Blake and Thornton had left the continent, changing their names along the way. Mac Ramsey and Victor Mansfield had landed in Montreal, Canada, and rented a car. It looked like their final destination was Toronto. 

Toronto. Their files suggested that Toronto was where they had come to Europe from. But for the last three years, the furthest they had gone was the middle east. So why were they heading back to Canada? Why now? 

It was a mystery, and Eberbach _hated_ mysteries. He stubbed out his cigarette, then picked up the phone and told the travel department to book him on a flight to Toronto. 

Whatever those two were up to, he was going to find out. 

  
**Reunions**

It was a dark and stormy night. 

Well, actually it wasn't. It was night, yes. And it was cloudy. But there hadn't been any rain for a week, and none was predicted for at least another two days. Still, the anticipation in the air was like the atmosphere right before a thunderstorm. 

The Director waited outside the burnt-out remains of the Viceroy Soy Mill. Nothing had been done to either fix or tear down the blackened shell of a building since the explosion that had destroyed it, and nearly killed her three favorite agents three years ago. On the other hand, the building had been derelict for years before that, so the owners obviously didn't care. 

In a way, this was the perfect place for this meeting. Not because it was difficult to spy on people here. Not because it was away from the Agency. No. Because it was all too appropriate for her first sight of her two former agents to be in the same place that she _last_ saw them. The place ] where she had nearly gotten them killed. 

The Director found herself pacing as she waited. Part of her was certain that they weren't going to show. Part of her was worried that they would. She was nervous, and she _hated_ being nervous. 

Out in the shadows, Jackie and Dobrinsky were prowling, making sure that there was no one in the area that shouldn't be there. She gave a brief smile. _None_ of them were supposed to be there. After all, the site had been condemned as unsafe. 

LiAnn was leaning against the car, a picture of calm. Only someone who knew her well would see the coiled tension. The Director felt a flash of tenderness. In many ways, LiAnn was a much stronger person than she had been three years ago, and that was a _very_ strong person. But in other ways, mainly emotionally, she was far more fragile. Perhaps she'd been wrong to hide Vic and Mac's survival from the young woman, but that was water under the bridge. It was too easy to look back and say 'I should have', when the time for decisions was past. Given the chance to do it all over again, she would probably make the same decisions. 

A car growled in the distance, and LiAnn came to her feet. They both looked towards the parking lot entrance and saw the car pull in. When the two male figures got out, everything blurred for a moment, as though seen through a pool of water. She shook it off, then gave a small smile. 

"Hello, boys." 

* * *

Mac had a bad case of the jitters. Victor could tell. He had finally relaxed enough to sleep on the plane, but when they got to bed, at the hotel after landing, he hadn't slept at all, as far as Victor could tell. Instead, he had tossed and turned, until Victor had wrapped himself around Mac, holding him down. Pure self-defense. He couldn't sleep next to all that movement. 

Okay, who was he kidding? He needed the contact just as much as Mac. 

So here they were. Back at the scene of the crime. In his mind's eye, he could still see the flames, hear the explosion, feel the force that had knocked them off their feet. It was a miracle that they had survived at all. Over to the side was the spot where Michael's car had exploded into flames, killing the man. He wished that he had been the one to kill the sonofabitch, but rescuing Mac had been far more important. At least they knew for sure, this time, that the man was dead. From Europe, they had checked to make sure that a body _had_ been recovered, and positively identified. The bastard was _not_ coming back from the (apparent) dead a second time. 

And just a short distance away was the alley where they had sat, discussing the future, deciding to make a run for it. It had probably been the scariest decision of his life. Scarier that leaving home, or fighting the corrupt cops who ended up framing him and put him in jail. No, that had been the scariest decision of his life and definitely the best choice he had ever made. 

They were waiting. He could see LiAnn and the Director, standing next to a non-descript car that must be LiAnn's. The Director, he remembered, had a preference for chauffeur-driven limousines. They were waiting, but he didn't care. He turned and pulled Mac in for a hard, thorough kiss. 

"I love you, Mac. I can _never_ say that often enough. Whatever happens, remember that." 

Mac smiled, and caressed his cheek. Then they got out of the car, and headed for the waiting women. The Director stepped forward with a smile. 

"Hello, boys." 

* * *

They looked good, the Director thought. Both of them. And LiAnn was right. Even though he was obviously nervous, Mac looked stronger, more confident, than he had before. The wounds that had made him so fragile when she recruited him were healed. 

And Victor. He had always been confident, but uptight. A man who wasn't sure what he _really_ wanted. Now he looked relaxed and happy. Like a man who had everything he wanted in life. 

She wished she could take credit for molding them into the men they had become, but she couldn't. All she had been able to do was set them free to find out who they were, what they could be. She was glad that they had. 

"Thank you for coming," she told them. 

"We owed you," Victor said, to her surprise. She quirked an eyebrow in question and he grinned. "If nothing else, we never would have met, if it weren't for you. For that alone, we're in your debt." 

She shook her head. Time to get down to business. "Not anymore. Right now, _I_ need _your_ help. LiAnn told you the basics about what is going on. Things are getting worse. There has been another attempt on a director, this time in London. It failed. And since we added security to the computer systems, someone has tried to break into the files. They were trying to pull the Agency personnel files when they were shut out. I think that whoever it was might have known I had called for you, but there's no way to tell. We don't know what _sort_ of personnel files they were after." 

Mac frowned. "What about the guy who tried to kill you? Any word on him?" 

She shook her head. "We've been too busy, in the last week, to track him down. The police are on it, but they _say_ they haven't found anything yet. And that attempt doesn't match _any_ of the others." 

"'They _say_ '," Victor repeated, thoughtfully. "You don't believe them?" 

The Director sighed. "Maybe I've been in this business too long. Maybe I'm too suspicious. But no, I don't believe them. The attempt was too clumsy and obvious for there not to have been witnesses. And it was probably local muscle, since an import would presumable do a better job." 

"All right," Victor said. "We'll start there. What is the word inside the Agency?" 

"Panic. Everyone is accusing everyone else, and the Head has disappeared." 

Mac's eyes narrowed at that. "Any chance he's behind this?" 

"It's one of the theories. Another is that whoever is behind it has kidnapped the Head. Everyone is looking at the directors, wondering if one of us is aiming to take over the his position." 

"And?" 

"No one has made a move yet." 

"Tell me about the Head," Victor prompted, face intent. 

"No one is sure who he is, or even if there's just one Head. He approached the Government Advisory Council about setting up a policing agency, years ago, and they agreed. I've only seen him a handful of times, and I can't even be sure that it was always the same person." 

She started pacing, watching the ground at his feet, something she did when she was trying to remember every detail of something. 

"He usually appears wearing a long hooded robe, usually orange. Like a far east holy man." Suddenly Victor was like a statue, tense and unmoving. "What?" 

"Does he like to talk in riddles?" 

The Director frowned. "Yes. Why?" 

"My dreams..." Victor whispered, then suddenly the tension eased, somewhat. "That time, more than three years ago, when we woke up in that warehouse with no memory of how we got there. After that I had the occasional dream about a man in orange robes, with a strange voice, talking in riddles." 

The Director frowned. "I don't remember anything, either. But Desmond was dying, and he remembered. He said that it was better that I _not_ remember. Maybe... maybe he was trying to stage a takeover. If it _was_ the Head in your dreams..." 

"If it was the Head," Victor continued for her, "and he took care of one takeover attempt on his own, then I think he's more than capable of taking care of himself now. That is a point more in favor of him being behind this." 

He shook his head. "Anyway, we had better work separate. Little contact. If people are as paranoid as you say, then they are going to be watching all of the directors. We should keep communication to a minimum. Mac and I will operate separately." 

"Agreed. Jackie will be your contact. Discuss it with her." 

The blonde agent popped out of the shadows, almost as if summoned by her name. "Like, are we almost finished here? Dobie and I have plans, you know." 

"Dobie? Dobie?!?" Mac started laughing, and all the tension seemed to drain out of him. Dobrinsky turned up at the opposite side of the lot. 

"Ace, if you _ever_ call me that, I will..." 

"Will what, _Dobie_?" Mac shot back, laughter gone. "We're not agents anymore. You're not in a position to discipline me." 

The Director started heading towards the car with LiAnn. The banter was cute, and oh-so-familiar, but she didn't have the time. Victor called out to her. 

"We aren't coming back, you realize. We're paying a debt, and then we are going back to our own lives." 

She turned and gave a faint smile. "I know, Victor. I didn't expect anything less." 

* * *

Mac tossed his suitcase on the first bed, then tossed himself onto the second. Though they had flown coach, they were going mid-grade for hotels. He would have preferred five-star, but they didn't want to attract attention. At least Vic hadn't insisted on some flea-ridden motel. He'd been around Mac too long to be willing to do that. 

"All right, first step is to find out what the police have learned about the hit attempt on the Director. Suggestions?" 

Mac propped himself up against the headboard. "Well, just asking is probably out. If they _do_ know more than they're saying, someone is squashing the investigation, and they aren't going to want that to get out, not with how high-profile a crime it was. Break-in?" 

Vic shook his head. "At a police station? I don't think so. They're never quiet, and the security is better. We need to get in a different way." 

"Computers?" 

"Computers. But neither of us know enough about computers to hack our way in." 

"What about Nathan? He seemed like he'd do anything you asked." 

Vic shook his head. "But his information was paper only. I don't think he knows enough about computers. But there was one guy I used when I was a cop..." 

"Fine. We'll go see him, first thing in the morning," Mac said, holding out a hand. "It's late, I'm exhausted, and we've both got jet-lag." Besides, he thought. I want a cuddle. 

Vic looked like he wanted to get going, right away. But after a moment he relaxed. "You're right. Neither of us is any shape to go running around tonight." 

They undressed and climbed into one of the beds and cuddled against each other. Now that they were actually going to be _doing_ something, Mac was feeling a lot better. Who knows, maybe he'd be able to sleep tonight. 

* * *

" _Vic_ tor _dar_ ling, it's been a dog's age! And who is this _gorgeous_ young man? And is he available?" 

Victor could see Mac, out of the corner of his eye, trying very hard not to start laughing. Maybe he should have warned him about Maurie. The man was short. Shorter than even the Director. And he had pink hair and was wearing makeup. He was also dressed in a blue silk dressing robe, and nothing else. 

"Mac Ramsey, meet Maurice Sondberg, Maurie to his friends. And no, Maurie, he is _not_ available." 

No matter how he might act, Maurie was _not_ stupid. His grin got even wider, and it seemed to say 'it's about time you settled down, you lucky dog'. 

"So, _Vic_ tor. What is it you need from Maurie?" 

Victor grinned. "Am I that obvious?" 

The man pouted, an obviously practiced pout. "You _never_ come see me unless you need something. Just once, I wish you'd come by just to say 'hi'. In fact, it's been nearly _four_ years! So, again, what is it you need?" 

"There was a shooting in the park last week. I want to get into the police computers and find out why they aren't getting anywhere." 

"Oooh. Not a _little_ favor, is it? Interfering in police business can get you in _big_ trouble, Victor." 

"Don't worry. I know what I'm doing. The target of the gunman was a friend of mine, and the police haven't done anything, so she asked me to look into it. I just want to know what the cops have learned so far." Victor made pleading expressions. Maurie liked to play-act, and he was usually more cooperative if you played with him. 

Maurie gave a theatrical sigh. "Well, in that case..." 

Victor grinned again, as they were led over to the computer room. 

* * *

"Hel-lo. This is interesting." 

Victor sat up straight in the chair he'd been dozing in while Maurie worked his magic. "What?" 

"The police have closed the file. According to this, they know who did it, too. But there is no record of a request for a warrant, or an arrest. They just... closed off the case." 

Mac was frowning. "Takes someone with a lot of power to squash the investigation into a public shooting, where two civilians got killed. The public will be screaming for blood if they _don't_ arrest someone." 

"No kidding," Victor replied. "Maurie, is there a name or address for the shooter?" 

"Offf course, gorgeous. Printing right now." 

He leaned over to pluck the piece of paper from the laser printer as it emerged. He handed it to Victor with a theatrical flourish as he stood. 

"Thanks, Maurie. I owe you one," Victor said, giving the man a quick kiss on his cheek. Maurie pouted again. 

"Is that the best you can do, darling?" 

Suddenly Mac gave a mischievous grin. "Maybe I can do better," he said, then swept the smaller man into a kiss. Not a standard kiss. No, the movie romance, bending the other man backwards, full french kiss, that went on and on and... 

Finally, Victor gave a small cough, and Mac straightened up. Maurie was flushed and bright-eyed. 

"Victor," he said, breathless. "I will do you favors _anytime_. Just make sure you bring _him_ with you." 

* * *

"Tease," Victor said with a smile as they stepped out into the sunlight. 

"Never with you," Mac responded. "For you, and only you, I always follow through. So, what do we have?" 

"Sam Jacobs. And an address. I think we need to pay Mr. Jacobs a little visit." 

"Sounds like a plan to me." 

  
**Investigations**

LiAnn parked herself at the conference table with her laptop, then looked across the table at her boss. 

"So. Where do you want to start?" 

The Director frowned, deep in thought. "The director for East Europe." 

LiAnn blinked in surprise. "She was nearly killed." 

"With an emphasis on _nearly_. Why did _she_ survive, when others didn't?" 

"You did, too," LiAnn pointed out, but she wasn't really surprised. Di was a _very_ paranoid woman, and surviving an attack was sometimes really misdirection. She was already tapping at her keyboard. 

The Director waved off the comment. "Different MO. Possibly a different source. No. I want to know _why_ she survived. It could have been designed to throw off suspicion." 

LiAnn shrugged. "All right, that's where we'll start. Better send someone to get Nathan poking through his archives as well." 

The Director smiled at that. Neither one of them was volunteering to go down themselves. "He still thinks you're a bug creature?" 

"Yep. I buzz, apparently. And you are still the queen alien with a very good human disguise." 

They both chuckled at that, then got to work. 

* * *

Sam Jacobs was not very hard to track down. Vic checked with a few old sources, and found out that Jacobs was a petty muscle, available for hire. When he wasn't working—if you could call it that—he hung out at a pool hall called the Blue Rooster. Victor hadn't a clue why it was called that, and he didn't really _want_ to know why. 

So, the Blue Rooster it was. Victor and Mac dropped, by right before 'happy hour'. The place could only be described as a dive. The air was full of cigarette smoke, half the lights were burnt out, and most of the pool tables had stains that you probably didn't want to look at too closely. Not to mention the stuffed and mounted rooster, behind the bar, that had been dyed an electric shade of blue. 

Vic and Mac had dressed to fit in, wearing ragged blue jeans, t-shirts and leather jackets, but they still stood out like sore thumbs. Maybe it was that they were too clean, or that they still had all of their teeth. 

Mac leaned against a pool table, keeping one eye on the door, and the other on the other patrons, while Vic went to talk to the bartender. At first the man shook his head, no doubt telling Vic that he didn't know anything about Jacobs. Vic slid a bill across the bar to the man. Mac couldn't see it, but it must have been a pretty high denomination bill, because the man's attitude made a sudden change. He pointed towards one of the tables near the front windows. 

The man was pretty typical for the bar. His blue jeans were almost brown, looking like they hadn't been washed in a year. The t-shirt was stained and torn. His hair was greasy, and he was in dire need of a haircut. Mac did _not_ want to get close enough to smell if he needed a bath as badly as he looked. 

"Sam Jacobs?" Vic asked in a polite tone. The man turned towards them. 

"Who wants ta know?" he said with a sneer. 

"We'd like to talk to you about the shooting in the park, last week." 

"I don't know nothing about it." Jacobs turned back to his solitary game of pool 

"Oooh. A double negative," Mac pointed out. "That means he _does_ know something, Vic." 

Vic waved at him to turn the sarcasm down, while the other man just glared. "The police know you did it, Jacobs." 

"So? They haven't done anything about it." 

"And they aren't going to," Vic said. "But _we_ aren't the police, and you're going to tell us _everything_ about the hit, and who ordered it." The tone was still mild, but suddenly it was full of steel. 

"Or else?" Jacobs was starting to sweat. 

"Or else," Vic replied, not bothering to say what the 'or else' was. 

Mac was impressed. He rarely ever go to see Vic do the intimidation routine. Usually, the other man was the picture of clean-cut and polite, but today... Well, Mac was starting to feel uncomfortable in his tight jeans, as they got tighter. Vic being masterful never failed to get his blood rushing to certain areas. 

And it was working, too. Jacobs was sweating. Or was that grease rolling down from his hair? 

"What makes you think I'm gonna talk to you?" he said is a show of obviously fake bravado. 

"Because if you don't, your body's going to turn up in an alley tomorrow, and no one is going to care." 

For a moment, Mac's blood ran cold. Vic was on _his_ side, and he wasn't the target of the glare, but _he_ was intimidated. Jacobs didn't stand a chance. 

"All right, all right," he said, nervously fiddling with his pool cue. "Some woman hired me. Blonde, classy looking, with a limey accent. Real hoity toity. Paid up-front. Said that the cops would never investigate. She'd make sure of it." 

"Name? Address?" 

"Like she's gonna tell me her name," Jacobs said, with a snort. "She paid half up-front. Said she'd send the rest by mail to my place. And she found me." 

"And you trusted her to send the rest." 

"Hey, that half was more than I usually get." 

Mac was starting to get a little impatient. "And what about now? After all, you blew it." 

The man looked stubborn. "Hey, I can still get the bitch. I just need to try again." 

Mac advanced, fist already clenching for the blow, when the front window shattered, and he felt a bullet whiz by. Jacobs fell to the ground, a small hole appearing, as if by magic, between his eyes. Mac and Vic hit the ground, too, but by their own choosing, along with everyone else in the room. 

Silence. Cautiously, Vic poked his head up over the edge of the pool table they were sheltering behind. Another bullet whizzed by. When Vic dropped back down, there was a hole in his jacket sleeve, right near the shoulder. Mac pulled the jacket off the shoulder to check. There was a red streak, where the bullet had grazed Vic, but no blood. It had just _barely_ missed him. Mac breathed a sigh of relief. 

"So," he said, checking his own gun. "Now what?" 

"Take your pick. Stay here, try again, or make a run for the back entrance." 

Mac was considering the options when they heard a car screech as it pulled away. They looked at each other for a long moment. Then Mac poked his head up. No shots. He stood. Nothing. 

"Looks like whoever it was is gone," he said to Vic. His partner was going through the late Mr. Jacobs pockets. 

"Damn," he muttered. "Nothing." 

"Didn't sound like there was anything more he could tell us anyway." 

"Right. Well, let's call Jackie. Give her what we have for the Director." 

"And then?" 

Suddenly, Mac found himself flat on his back on the pool table, with Vic leaning over him kissing him breathless, ignoring their audience. Then Vic pulled back and gave him a hungry grin. "Then we go back to the hotel and I fuck you into next week." 

"Riiiight," Mac said, pulling himself upright. "I forgot. Bullets flying equals horny Vic. Let's go." 

* * *

From his rental car, parked across the street, Klaus von dem Eberbach had a perfect view of the dirty little bar, and the two men he'd been watching. 

Getting to Toronto had not been a problem, although his superiors were going to want to know _why_ he had decided to follow two men all the way to Canada, which was out of his jurisdiction. Once there, it hadn't been too difficult to find the men. Knowing the names that the two men were using here, Mac Ramsey and Victor Mansfield, had allowed a search of credit card usage. He had been a little surprised to find out that the cards had existed for a while, but hadn't been used for more than three years, since before Blake and Thornton had turned up in Europe. Perhaps these were their real names? It would bear looking into. 

But the credit cards had led him to a small, mid-scale hotel. He had checked into a room on a different floor from his two subjects, and he had followed the men. This morning they had stopped at a suburban home, so far out from town that he had been certain that they would see him. A tracking device might be a good idea. 

And now they were at this place. What sort of name was The Blue Rooster anyway? And why were they talking to that greasy specimen of humanity? 

Suddenly, a new question presented itself, as the bullets flew. Who was trying to kill Blake and Thornton? And more importantly, why? 

* * *

"So, like, I told the Director what you told me, and she got _really_ interested. She says that the guy sounds like he was describing the director over in London, the one that was nearly killed a few days ago. So she did some checking, and this director woman was missing from her office about the time that this Jacobs guy was hired." 

Victor could feel his eyebrows go up. "Maybe it's the move that no one has seen yet, the move to take over the Agency. I wonder, though. Jacobs being killed, was that to cover her tracks or because he failed?" 

Jackie gave a small shrug. "Who knows. So, whatcha going to do now?" 

Victor looked at Mac, asking and getting a response. "I guess we head for London for a chat with this woman," he said. 

"Cool." 

* * *

Klaus loaded his bags into the backseat of his rental car. It was a good thing he had paid off two of the desk managers to let him know if Blake or Thornton— no, Ramsey or Mansfield—checked out. He could see them loading bags into _their_ car, over at the other side of the parking lot. 

Klaus got into the car, started it up, and lit a cigarette. As soon as the other two men pulled away, he was right behind them. 

He quickly realized that the men were heading for the airport. Were they returning to France so soon? And he _still_ didn't know why they had come to Toronto in the first place. 

But no. They put most of their luggage into an airport locker, then immediately booked themselves onto a flight for London. Klaus waited until they were out of sight, then bought a ticket for the same flight. 

Luckily there were still seats left. 

* * *

"I have a job for you." 

Murphy and Camier waited, silent. As the Cleaners, they were the best in their field, and their field was assassination. A lot of people wanted to hire them, but they were on an exclusive contract with the Agency. 

"There are two men coming to London. They need to die. The details are in the envelope." 

In synchronized motion, the two men nodded, then stood to leave. 

Once in the hallway, they opened the envelope. 

"Oh dear." 

"Indeed, Mr. Murphy. I was under the impression that they were dead." 

"As was I, Mr. Camier. A pity. I was quite fond of them." 

"Indeed. However, we work for the Agency, and if the Agency wants them dead..." 

"But _why_ does the Agency want them dead?" 

Camier stopped and considered the question. "I don't know. It might be interesting to find out. Still, we have plans to make. Shall we go, Mr. Murphy?" 

The two men left the Agency's London office. Murphy was carrying the satchel containing the implements of their trade, and Camier carrying the envelope. 

Inside the envelope were a slip of paper with a flight number and landing time, and two pictures. Pictures of Mac Ramsey and Victor Mansfield. 

  
**Jolly Old England**

  
Victor gave Mac a nudge to wake him up. Their flight would be landing in London in a few more minutes. It was funny, in a way. This flight was the opposite of the last one. Flying to Canada, Mac was the one who couldn't sleep, while Victor was out like a light. This time, Mac had slept most of the flight away. 

But it was to be expected. Mac always relaxed once a job was underway, while Victor got tense, planning the next move. _Before_ the job, Mac was tense, worrying about what they didn't know, while Victor was relaxed until he got the details. 

So, Mac had been able to sleep on the flight, while Victor's mind was so busy going over plans that he couldn't doze off. In his bag he had what would look, to anyone flipping through it, like a book of plans, the type a person buys when dreaming of building a home. But, one of those houses, midway through the book, was actually the floorplan of building that housed the Agency, here in London. Details on security were sketchy, though, and the plans might be out of date, but it was the best that the Director could supply them with. Agency directors tended to be paranoid, and few knew many details about the others' home offices. 

As a result, there were a lot of question marks. After all, they couldn't exactly walk up to the front door and ask to see the lady of the house, could they? Still, they'd figure something out. 

The pilot announced final approach, and Victor nudged Mac again. Time to get this show on the road. 

* * *

Mac shook his head, as they left the customs area. There hadn't been any trouble. Their French passports and the reputation of Thornton and Blake, Security Specialists, had been quite handy. Vic had suggested renting a car, but they decided against it. They would check into a hotel, a reasonable walking distance from the Agency headquarters here, and use the public transportation. 

They were heading for the bus-stop, when Mac noticed something. "Um, Vic?" 

"Yeah?" 

"There's a guy over near the phones. I could swear I saw him in Toronto." 

Vic looked over at the man. He was about the same height as Mac, wearing a suit and trenchcoat. His hair was dark and shoulder-length. His eyes flicked towards them, then away. 

"He was on the plane with us. Of course he was in Toronto." 

Mac frowned, trying to concentrate. "No... He was at the same hotel as us. I remember seeing him, while we were packing the car." A memory flickered past, and he grabbed onto it. "There was a car outside the Blue Rooster. I'm sure that was him, too." 

Vic frowned. "You're sure? Never mind, of course you are. So what do we do now?" 

Mac thought fast. "Head for the parking lot. See if he follows us. If he does, we grab him, and find out what he's up to." 

Vic nodded. "Simple is usually best. Let's go." 

They didn't have to collect any luggage, since they'd left most of their stuff in Toronto. All they had was a pair of carry-on bags with a couple changes of clothing. Mac wished they could have brought guns with them. They were going to need some before they went to see the local director. 

They headed away from the terminal, aiming for the long-term parking lot. 

* * *

Klaus followed the two men, wondering where they were going. It was not likely that they had a car parked here in case of a trip to London. Their last trip to London, according to the files, was nearly two years ago. So why... 

Klaus stopped. He could kick himself. They had made him, and were leading him someplace isolated. He decided to head back to the terminal. He'd use Interpol resources to track them. Following their credit cards had worked once, after all. 

He was heading away, when he saw the other two men, come from the other side of the lot. Tall and thin, almost cadaverous looking. He felt a shiver go through him at the sight. There was something about them. Something that made him stop and look back. Look, just as they drew guns, and aimed for Thornton and Blake. He drew a deep breath. 

"Look out!" 

* * *

At the shouted warning, Victor spun. Seeing guns, he grabbed Mac and dove behind a parked car. 

"Isn't that..." 

"The Cleaners," Victor finished off for Mac. "But why are they shooting at us?" 

Mac rolled his eyes. "They work for the Agency. We're here to talk to an Agency director about an attempt on another director. Let's face it, Vic. We're in the middle of an intra-agency war." 

"And we're unarmed." Victor was pissed. There was no way that they could have brought guns onto an international flight. He'd planned on getting a couple, illegally, before they went to 'see' the local director, but he hadn't expected to need them quite so soon. "Who shouted?" 

Mac peeked over the hood of the car, noting the location of Murphy and Camier, as well as their mysterious benefactor, who was currently making tracks. "Our shadow," he said, ducking as a shot pinged off the car. 

"Great. Suggestions?" 

Mac thought about it. Unfortunately, the parking lot was deserted. After all, that was why _they_ had picked it. He shook his head. "You circle right. Try to get behind them. I'll keep their attention." 

Vic looked worried, but there weren't many options open to them. He grabbed Mac and kissed him, hard. "Be careful," he said, then headed to the next row of cars. 


	4. Always a Thief 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with my series, Drowning Sorrows builds around the series John Woo's Once a Thief, and the growing relationship between Victor Mansfield and Mac Ramsey. At the end of the TV series, they were apparently killed in an explosion. In my world, they took the chance to leave the country, heading for Europe, where they made a life for themselves as security experts... and thieves. Always a Thief picks up three years later, when trouble inside the Agency forces the Director to call them in for help, finally admitting that she knew they were still alive. Also drawn in to the trouble is Klaus von dem Eberbach, formerly a Major in NATO Intelligence, now in Interpol. People familiar with the japanese comic (manga) series 'From Eroica With Love' will recognize Klaus. Revenge of the Bolsheviks is the newest book in the Drowning Sorrows series. A mysterious organization kidnaps Mac and the Earl Dorian Red Gloria (also known as the thief Eroica). What are they up to? Starts about six months after the end of Always A Thief. There is also a couple of side stories that falls between Drowning Sorrows and Always a Thief, and I'm sure that there will be more to come.

July 1998  
[email removed]

**Part 2**

Victor weaved his way between the cars, angling for where the Cleaners were. It was disappointing, really. He _liked_ the Cleaners, even if they were assassins. He'd played poker with them, usually losing to them and their stone faces. But they also followed orders. He'd gone against them before, when the Agency's orders and the Director's orders had conflicted. 

"Guys! Can't we talk about this?" Mac's voice came from behind and to the side of him, as his partner tried to distract the two gunmen. 

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Ramsey. Our orders are quite clear on this." Camier. Always so polite. Actually, they both were. From the sound of the voice, he was just about even with them. Luckily, the parking lot was nearly full to capacity, so he was able to keep cars between him and his targets. Unfortunately, while they couldn't see him, he couldn't see them either. 

Mac was staying out of sight, but kept talking. Both of the assassins were focused on him. Victor was coming up behind them, now. The only problem was how to take out two armed men when he was unarmed himself. 

He'd have to wing it. 

"Mr. Ramsey, if you and Mr. Mansfield would just step into view, we promise that it will be quick and painless. Must we prolong this?" 

Yes, Camier, we must. Victor positioned himself, set himself, then sprang. 

The Cleaners spun, the moment they heard him move, but it was too late. He had Camier by the throat, holding him between himself and Murphy. In his hand, he held Camier's gun, grabbed at the same time as its owner. 

"Put it down, Murph," he said quietly, his gun pointed at the man. "You can't kill me without killing your partner, and I really doubt you're going to do that." 

For several long, tense moments it was a standoff. Mac was coming up behind Murphy, but Victor didn't spare any attention from the assassin. He kept his grip on Camier tight. 

Finally, Murphy released his gun, letting it dangle by the trigger guard from his finger. Mac quickly took it from him, then frisked him. Keeping a wary eye on the man, he then moved to their ever-present satchel, and gingerly flipped it open. Inside, he found ropes that he used to tie Murphy with. Once he was secure, Mac moved to Victor's side, and tied up Camier as well. 

Victor was relieved, but knew better than to relax completely. Even tied up, the Cleaners were still dangerous. 

"Well," he said, standing well back from the bound men. "Let me guess. The local director sent you to kill us." No response. "Did she, by any chance, mention that she sent someone to kill the Director? Our Director, that is." That got a small reaction, but he couldn't tell if it was upset about the attempted killing, or the fact that someone _else_ was sent. "Opened fire on LiAnn and the Director in a crowded park." 

_That_ got a reaction, from Camier. "Is Miss Tsei all right?" the man asked in a worried tone. Victor felt his eyebrows go up in surprise. 

"Yes, but it was close. Really, guys. I never would have expected the two of _you_ to get pulled into internal conflicts." 

"We were under the impression that you were not _in_ the Agency anymore. In fact, until we were told you were targets, we were under the impression that you were _dead_." 

Mac shrugged. "The rumors of our demise, etc. etc. You know, Vic, I wonder why we were able to take these two out? After all, they had the drop on us, long before we knew they were there." 

Victor considered that. "You're right. We should have been dead much sooner. Unless, of course, they didn't really _want_ to kill us." He looked at the two men, but they refused to meet his eyes. "Sentimentality?" 

"Of course not!" Murphy replied, in an offended tone. 

"Suuure," Mac said. 

"Well, I suggest that you might want to stay out of this one. There's a war brewing inside the Agency." 

"You're involved," Camier pointed out. 

"Personal debts. When this is over, we're gone. Now, be good boy." 

Victor picked up his bag from where he'd dropped it at the start of this, and dropped Camier's gun into it. Mac did the same with Murphy's gun. The satchel, they left behind, out of the reach of the two men. Who knew how many booby-traps that thing had. Still, this solved the problem of getting guns. Then they headed for the nearest bus stop, at a brisk walk. 

"Any sign of our shadow?" he asked as they walked. 

"Nope. Long gone. But what about the Cleaners? We're just going to leave them there?" 

"Yep," Victor replied. "They'll get loose, soon enough. Besides, I think they'll stay out of it now." 

"I hope you're right. But they knew we were coming. That means that the local director will be expecting us." 

"Yeah, I know." It bothered Victor too, but there was little that they could do about. For now. 

* * *

Mac dropped his bag in the corner and grimaced at the room. Unfortunately, the only room left in the area was one with two single beds. He hated single beds. His feet always hung over the end. And they were lousy for two people cuddling. 

Or anything else for that matter. 

Still, it wasn't for long. It was mid-afternoon. That night, they would sneak out to go see the local director. Tomorrow, they would probably be out of here. They had actually planned on spending a couple days, casing out the joint, but the welcoming committee at the airport told them that they better move fast. 

Vic was checking all the corners and cubby-holes, worried about bugs or cameras. Finally he straightened up with a sigh, the room obviously passing _his_ standards, which had little to do with comfort and much to do with paranoia. He turned to Mac, and gave him a lazy grin. Mac gave a dramatic sigh. 

"Always the bullets," he grumbled, not really minding. Actually, if he had to admit it, nearly getting killed made him horny to. There was some sort of psychological reason for it, but he didn't really care. All he cared was that fights or bullets flying got him some great sex. 

Vic was already stalking towards the bed, clothes dropping to the floor as he went. Damn, he was good at that. Mac had always thought that Vic would do great as part of one of those all-male strip groups. Especially when he went the 'full monty'. Mac had liked that movie. 

Now naked, Vic pushed him onto his back on the undersized bed. " _You_ are still dressed," he growled, tugging at Mac's suit jacket. Mac grinned up at him. 

"But you have so much fun getting my clothes off. Who am I to disappoint you?" 

Vic leaned down to kiss Mac's neck, followed by a lick. Mac's suit jacket was already gone, his pants undone, and his shirt was about to go too. "You never disappoint," Vic said in a serious voice, then plunged in for a deep, hard kiss. 

Mac relaxed into the mattress. Yes. This was _definitely_ what he was in the mood for, a nice hard fuck. He loved it long and slow and tender. He loved being inside Vic. But today he wanted to be pounded into oblivion by his lover. 

By the time the kiss ended, his shirt was gone, and his pants and underwear had been pushed down to bunch around his ankles. He quickly disposed of them, while Vic went to their bags for the lube. Paranoid as always, Vic also paused long enough to grab one of the guns to slip under the pillow. 

Mac rolled onto his stomach, then pushed up onto his hands and knees, deliberately waving his ass in the air. Behind him, he could hear his lover's deep growl. and he grinned at the sound. He could feel the mattress dip as Vic rejoined him. 

"Oh _God_!" he cried out, as two slick fingers plunged inside him, with no preliminaries. He grimaced, the feeling riding that fine line between pleasure and pain. The pain disappeared quickly, though, and he pushed back against the fingers that were stretching him. They disappeared, but before he could protest, Vic's cock entered him in one hard thrust. 

"Yes!" he hissed, trying to keep quiet. It was difficult, but he figured that the walls around here were probably pretty damn thin. It got even more difficult to stay quiet once Vic started up a steady, pounding rhythm, perfectly timed based on nearly four years as lovers. Vic knew exactly what he wanted and gave it to him. 

Mac was practically whimpering by the time a hand reached to start milking his own neglected erection, and he was soon splattering the bed-spread. In the tiny portion of his mind that was still coherent, he snickered at the thought of the maid who would have to change it, and what she would think. Then Vic gave a strangled cry, and he felt that extra bit of wet warmth filling him up. 

Vic collapsed across his back, and he twisted so that they were spooned together on the narrow bed, Vic still embedded inside of him. Sure enough, his feet were hanging over the end, but he felt too good to care. 

Just a short nap, he thought as his eyes drifted shut. Not even the wet spot under his hip was going to be able to keep him awake. 

* * *

Victor smiled, and curled himself a little tighter around his partner. He was feeling _real_ good right now. He closed his eyes, figuring that they had time for an hour's nap before they had to get moving. 

Victor groaned, then rolled over. Unfortunately he was a little to close to the edge, and he hit the floor with a thud. Whoever it was would know that _someone_ was there. Mac was already on his feet, with the gun in his hand. 

"Window?" Mac asked, suggesting that they make a run for it. 

Victor shook his head. "There might be someone outside, and we aren't exactly dressed for it. No, let's see who it is." 

He pulled on his boxers, then headed for the door. Holding his gun, Mac plastered himself to the wall, next to the door. He nodded, and Victor pulled the door open. 

"Good day, Mr. Mansfield. Or should I say Mr. Thornton? I would like to talk to you." 

It was their shadow from the airport. 

  
**Confrontations**

Victor stared at the man, his mind racing frantically. Not only had the man been following them, he also knew _both_ of the names that Victor used. Chances were good, then, that he also knew about Mac. So what the hell did he want? 

Only one way to find out. 

"I guess you'd better come in," he said, keeping his voice calm, waving the man in. 

The man stepped through the door. Victor closed it behind him, and Mac was immediately there, gun pressed to the back of the stranger's neck. The man showed an impressive amount of self-control, not even flinching at the touch of cold metal. 

"Let's start with just who the hell _you_ are," Mac growled. 

* * *

Klaus prided himself on not showing anything that he didn't want anyone to see, but it took all of his self-control not to flinch. The touch of a gun-barrel was unmistakable, and he didn't doubt that the safety was off. 

"My name is Klaus von dem Eberbach. I work for Interpol. And you are Matthew Blake and Richard Thornton. You are _also_ Mac Ramsey and Victor Mansfield. I'm curious, though. Which are your real names?" 

Holding his hands out from his sides, trying to look as unthreatening as he could, he turned around to face the two men. Both were rumpled and barely dressed. The condition of one of the beds told him _exactly_ what he had interrupted. It also explained why they looked so relaxed after nearly being killed, earlier in the afternoon. 

Blake/Ramsey also looked pissed. "None of your business," he snapped. Thornton/Mansfield put a hand on his shoulder, seeming to urge patience. 

"Interpol, huh?" he said. "So why are you following us?" 

Klaus rolled his eyes. "You think Interpol doesn't know about you? Watch you?" 

The man shrugged. "Maybe. But you followed us from Toronto. Canada is a _little_ out of your jurisdiction, isn't it?" 

Klaus gritted his teeth a little at that. He'd already heard the same thing from his superiors. "When two thieves suddenly, without warning, pick up and head across the Atlantic, I get curious. And what I saw there made me even _more_ curious. Then, without warning, after nearly being killed in a hole-in-the-wall bar, you head for London. Arriving in London, you are nearly killed again. I want to know why." 

The two men looked at each other, and he could almost _hear_ the silent conversation going on between them. Finally, Thornton/Mansfield nodded, and his partner lowered his gun. 

The first man shrugged. "Someone tried to kill an old friend of ours, a little more than a week ago. The police didn't seem to be doing anything about it, so she called us for help. We found the shooter, but he was killed." 

Klaus frowned. The man at the bar. 

"Before he was killed, he gave us information that led us here. We're going to have a talk with the woman who hired him, later this evening." 

"And what do you intend to do with her?" 

"Just talk," Blake/Ramsey said with an innocent expression. Klaus knew that his face was showing his disbelief. "Really. Of course, if _she_ tries anything..." 

Klaus filled in the rest. If 'she', whoever she was, tried anything, the two men would defend themselves, with deadly force need be. 

There was more to the story. A _lot_ more. He could practically taste it. But this was all they were going to tell him. He could see it in their eyes. There was only _sure_ way to get more information. 

"All right," he said, and the two men relaxed a fraction. "But I'm coming with you." 

* * *

Mac slipped through the darkness, dressed in black. While he watched for unexpected guests, Vic disarmed the security system. Over the years, he had gotten _very_ good at that. 

Finally the system was disarmed, and they were slipping through the open door. All three of them. 

Mac had argued long against letting this Klaus person come with them, but Vic had pulled him off into the corner and pointed out that if the guy really _was_ an Interpol agent, then they were better off keeping him with them, where they could keep an eye on him. If they refused, his next act would probably be to call his bosses and have them arrested. 

When put that way, Vic was right. So the German came with them. 

Into the building they slipped. From the outside, it looked like the typical sort of home you find in the posh area of London, set on a large, tree-filled lot behind high walls. Inside, though, was a different matter. 

Four below-ground levels housed the Agency's office for this area of the world. Would her office be on one of those levels? If so, then reaching her would be very difficult and dangerous. 

But their guess was no. According to the Director, the director for Western Europe came from a noble family that had fallen down on their luck, more than a century ago. She liked to trade on her title, even though there was nothing much _behind_ the title. That was why she had chosen an old manor-style house for the Agency office. No, her office was probably in the house itself. 

The plans they had identified the room that had been office to the lord of the manor is days long gone. They would start there. If their guess was wrong... They would just improvise. 

They found the room, easily enough, and the spill of light from beneath the door said that someone was there. So far, no alarms had been raised, but that was not likely to last. They needed to move fast. 

Mac and Vic moved to opposite sides of the door, their borrowed guns at the ready, and glanced at each other. Klaus was against the wall, further back in the hallway. The signal was given, without a sound, and Vic kicked the door open, while Mac dived through, looking for targets. 

There were two people in the room. The bulky man next to the door just screamed 'bodyguard', but he went down easily, a gun-butt strike behind the ear. Mac kept his gun on the other person, while Vic tied up the unconscious man. 

"So, you're here to kill me too," the blonde said in a hauty tone. Mac had to hand it to her, she was a cool customer. 

* * *

Victor blinked at the comment, thrown off by it. "What are you talking about?" he said. "We're here to find out why you tried to have our Director killed. Not to mention _us_ , this afternoon." 

The woman's expression had turned into a sneer. "Do you think I'm a fool?" she asked. "When two of her favorite agents are listed as dead, but are seen running around _my_ territory, I start to wonder why. Then, when the first director was killed, I knew. She's moving to take over the Agency. She was already the Head's heir-apparent, but she obviously doesn't want to wait. She's killed him, and now she's killing off the competition. She's probably got her own people planted everywhere." 

Mac groaned. "Give me a _break_! She is not trying to take over anything! And we were in Europe because we _left_ the Agency, not because she's got some sort of Machiavellian plan for world domination. The only reason she called us is because _you_ tried to have _her_ killed." 

"If she's behind it," Victor pointed out, "why would she offer to help with the investigations into the other deaths?" 

The woman gave him a look, as though he were a very slow child. "Having her own people involved would let her make _sure_ that the proof of her involvement would never be found." 

"It wouldn't be found, because she _isn't_ involved," Mac said. The woman just gave a snort of disbelief. 

It was obvious that she wasn't going to believe them, Victor realized. No matter what they said, she was going to see it as more proof that the Director was trying to hoodwink everyone. 

So what the _hell_ did they do now? 

* * *

Mac was starting to get antsy. It was already obvious that, while the woman _had_ tried to kill their Director, she was _not_ behind the deaths of the others. She was just really paranoid. A common affliction in the Agency, and one of the reasons that they had left as soon as they had the chance. 

But now what did they do? They couldn't just walk away. After all, she did try to have them killed. Just leaving her would guarantee that she would try to kill them again, since she obviously didn't believe them when they said that they _weren't_ the assassins. But killing her in cold blood...? 

Mac could see that Vic was going through the same list of possibilities in _his_ mind, and his guard dropped, ever-so-slightly. Mac saw it, and so did the woman. Out of nowhere, she suddenly had a knife in her hand, and she attacked Vic. 

Despite her looks, she was obviously very strong. In no time, Vic's gun was on the floor, and he was pinned to the wall, trying keep the knife away from his throat. Heart in his mouth, Mac held his gun ready, waiting for an opening, and praying it would come quickly. 

When it did, he barely had time to recognize it and act. Vic got a knee between them, and pushed with both arms and one leg. From the angle that Mac was at, that few extra inches of separation was all he needed to get a clear shot. Without thinking, he took it, and she crumpled to the ground, already dead. 

He stared a Vic for a moment, until there was a hiss from the doorway. He went pale, as he realized that the Interpol guy had seen everything. Klaus had just seen him murder someone. They were in _deep_ shit. 

"Let's get out of here, before someone comes," the man was saying. Vic picked up his gun, not wanting to leave any evidence, and they ran. 

* * *

Victor was cursing, under his breath, as they left the house. Killing the woman had _not_ been planned, but there was little else that Mac could have done. That knife had been very sharp, from what he had seen, and for a moment he had thought that he was going to get a practical demonstration of how it could be used. 

Alarms were going off, and they could hear men shouting, as they moved through the grounds. This time, they weren't going to bother re-arming the system as they left. They were just going to get the hell out. 

They were almost to the wall, when there was an excited shout. They had been spotted. The three of them ducked behind trees, and prepared to fight, when the cry went up again. Then, amazingly enough, the security people started heading away from them. 

Victor peeked around the tree, wondering what the heck was going on. The security guards were following a figure in black. For a moment, the long blonde hair made him think it was Jackie, sent by the Director as backup. But no. Jackie was a _lot_ shorter than this person. Besides, despite the long curls, this person was very obviously male. Behind him, he could hear Klaus swearing in German. He didn't recognize the words, but the tone was unmistakable. 

Then the guards were gone, and they were over the wall, heading away from the manor. 

A kilometer away, they finally stopped, and Victor turned towards Klaus. "Now what?" he asked. If the man thought he was going to take Mac into custody, he had another thing coming. Klaus frowned, thoughtfully. 

"You killed that woman," he said, and Victor tensed. "But she had already admitted to trying to kill _you_. As well, her attack made it a case of self-defense, I think." He stood silent for a moment. "I will look the other way," he finally said. "But do not count on that twice." 

Victor felt Mac sag slightly in relief. He nodded his thanks, then grabbed Mac's arm and dragged him in the direction of their hotel. 

They needed to head back to Toronto. Unfortunately, their trip to London had been a bust, in one way. While they had stopped the person responsible for the attempt on their Director, they were still no closer to finding out who was behind all the _other_ deaths. 

They were back at square one. 

* * *

Klaus watched, as the two men headed towards their hotel. Following would be a waste of time, since he doubted that they would be there for long. Even though they said that their only involvement was to find the person responsible for the attack on their friend, and they had, he didn't think that they would be heading home. His bet was that they were headed back to Toronto, and he intended to be right behind them. 

"And why are you hanging around two such _lovely_ men, Major?" came an amused voice from a nearby alley. Klaus spun, reaching for his gun. Standing, leaning against the wall was a tall man, wearing black jeans and a black pull-over top. His blond hair hung in loose curls around his shoulders. "And helping them to break into a private residence, too." 

Klaus slid his gun back into its holster. "None of your business, Earl." 

The handsome nobleman pouted, ever so slightly. "Really, Major. You'd think that a person would be a little more polite to someone who just may have saved his life." 

Klaus rolled his eyes. "Thank you," he said, in insincere tones. "And don't call me 'Major'. I'm not _in_ NATO Intelligence anymore." 

The other man smiled. "A pity. I liked the uniform. But do be a little more careful in the future. I _might_ not always be around." 

The blond slipped through his defenses, and before he could fend the man off, he had been soundly kissed. Then he was released, already alone in the area, leaving him to consider everything that had happened since he arrived in London. 

What he had heard that night intrigued him. This 'Agency' that had been discussed. There are always rumors of international conspiracies, controlling the world, but most people scoffed at them, but as a member of Interpol, and a former NATO Intelligence officer, Klaus knew better. The Government Advisory Council was spoken of in whispers, both feared and respected, and this Agency... Klaus guessed that the Agency was connected to the GAC in some way. 

Klaus lit a cigarette and headed off to collect his own bag. Next stop, the airport for a flight to Toronto. Even his superiors would not be able to deny that more information was needed. If this 'Agency' _was_ an arm of the GAC, and it was going through some sort of internal battle, it was something to worry about. 

Klaus was _very_ worried.. 

  
**Interludes**

Jackie Janczyk, former mob-queen turned secret agent and still only twenty two, paced as she waited for her two contacts to arrive. Even after more than three years with the Agency it still felt weird, being on the side of the law. She'd been born a mob-princess, raised a mob-princess, indulged in every way. Then at eighteen when her father had gone off the deep end, she'd become mob queen, only to end up in jail _real_ fast. 

Sometimes it still cheesed her that she'd screwed up so bad. The Janczyk family had fallen apart as soon as she was gone. She now knew enough to realize that it was going to happen anyway, but she sometimes thought that if she'd just been a little smarter... 

Still, it had. She'd gone to jail, and promptly been recruited by the Director. She'd liked that. Not only had she gotten out of jail, she'd also gotten to work with that cutie, Mac Ramsey again. Then she'd found out he was already taken. Pity. Of course, there was also Dobrinsky. He took a _little_ longer to grow on her, but still, he'd turned out to be a lot of fun. 

It had also taken a while for her to figure out just what Mac saw in that stiff, Vic Mansfield. The guy was _such_ a square. But he was a _nice_ square. Loyal, cute, and with a _great_ ass. And hot in bed, from what she'd heard over the Director's bugs. She smiled briefly at the memory. Who would have thought that Vic Mansfield was a screamer? 

Even better was getting LiAnn to listen in. She had been almost as much a stiff as Vic. And it was like she thought that both Mac and Vic were her own personal property, while telling them that she didn't _want_ either of them. Sheesh, talk about mixed signals. It had taken almost getting blown up to turn the chick into a human. But, hey. The Director was good for her, and she was good for the Director. They made one hell of a pair. 

Jackie heard the sound of footsteps, and she tensed, reaching for her gun. A girl can't be too careful, after all. Then she relaxed as she recognized the two men. 

"You're late," she said, slipping the gun back into its holster. 

"Traffic was _really_ lousy," Mac said with a grin, then kissed her on the forehead. She smiled, and shook her head. 

"Sorry, Mac. I'm taken. So are you, if I remember correctly." Vic snorted. "So what _happened_? Europe is like in _major_ upheaval right now. The director you went to see is _dead_." 

"I know," Vic said. "Mac had to kill her." 

"What?!" 

"Well, she had a knife at Vic's throat. What else could I do?" Mac said, shrugging. "We did find out that she was the one who hired the guy to kill the Director. Hell, she ordered the Cleaners to kill _us_ at the airport." 

Jackie blinked at that. "And they failed?" The Cleaners were the kings of assassins. That they would _fail_ was almost unthinkable. 

"I don't think their hearts were really in it," Vic said. "Plus, we had a little help." Jackie waited, but he didn't go any further on _that_ subject. 

"Anyway," Vic said. "She might have been behind the shooting attempt, but she _isn't_ behind the other deaths. In fact, she was convinced that the Director is the one behind it, as part of a plan to take over the Agency. She was looking at it as more of a preemptive strike. Get your enemy before they get you." 

"Damn," Jackie frowned. "That means we're back to square one, with no leads." 

"Looks like," Mac said. "Listen, we are, like, _seriously_ jet-lagged, so we're going to go check into a hotel or something. We'll start over again tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. I feel like I could sleep a _month_." 

"Right," Jackie said in an absent-minded tone. She waved as they walked away, but the gears in her mind were turning at full-speed. The Director was _not_ going to like this. 

Damn, things were getting complicated. 

* * *

Klaus watched them though binoculars, from a distance. It hadn't taken much to track the two men down again, and this time he decided to be a little more careful. A bug planted on the men's rental car had let him follow them without being noticed. Now that they had noticed him, he was going to have to be a bit more circumspect in his investigation. 

But now he had a new avenue of investigation. Klaus grabbed his camera and took several photos of the blonde they were meeting with. The telephoto lens would provide some nice close-ups. She was new to him, and she was obviously very young. Quite pretty, in fact. But he'd probably have better luck in investigating through her. 

First step. Find out who she was. 

Klaus packed up his camera, and waited until everyone had left before starting his own car. He had work to do. 

* * *

It was late, her eyes were burning, and she desperately wanted to go home to bed, but the Director stayed where she was. There wasn't _time_ to rest. 

Jackie had just left for the night. She'd relayed the information that the boys had given her, and it wasn't good. Their only _solid_ lead had turned out to be a wild goose chase. And they'd been forced to take out the Western Europe director. 

And now, word had arrived that the director for Australia had just been found dead in his own bed. Behind locked doors, with the security system armed. This one matched the other three deaths. Whoever was behind this was doing a damn good job of panicking the Agency. If they kept it up, there might not be an Agency _left_. Out of thirteen directors, five were now dead, with no time to replace them. Their deputies were struggling to keep everything moving, while also investigating the deaths. 

And the only suspect they had was the Head. There was still no sign of him, and no sign that he'd been taken. Hell, there was no sign that he'd ever even _existed_. Even if he wasn't behind this, they needed to find him, and quickly. 

She pulled off her glasses and rubbed at her eyes, before reaching for another field report. It was going to be a long night. 

* * *

By the time he pulled himself out of the shower, Mac was barely keeping to his feet. Crossing the Atlantic three times in less than a week was _not_ his idea of a good time. 

_His_ idea of a good time was already in bed and half-asleep. 

Mac finished drying his hair, then dropped his towels on the floor and crawled in next to Vic. Strong arms immediately came around him, and he was pulled into a warm embrace. 

"Wanna make love to you," came a sleepy whisper. "But 'm too tired." 

Mac rubbed his cheek against the smooth chest. "S'okay, Vic. Don't think I could get it up either." 

"Love you." 

Mac smiled. "Love you too," he replied, but the other man was already asleep. 

He was exhausted, but it still took Mac a while to get to sleep. He'd hated having to kill the woman—after all, she'd _thought_ she was protecting herself and the Agency—but it had been a choice between her and Vic, and Vic won, hands down. He would always win. 

Because life without his lover was a scary thought. He didn't know what he'd do if Vic died before him, and he really didn't want to think about it. 

He squeezed his lover a little closer, and rested his ear over the other man's heart. The reassuring sound of the beating of that heart finally lulled him into a peaceful sleep. 

* * *

Alice "call me Allegra" Mansfield ducked through one of her favorite shortcuts on campus. Passing between buildings and through parking-lots got her from the library to her residence a lot faster than if she stuck to the main campus roads. 

She was just starting her second year at university, and was enjoying herself immensely. Baiting professors had turned out to be great fun. Especially the more conservative ones in the PoliSci department at Queens. And her assignments and tests were so good that they couldn't even get back at her by flunking her. She grinned at the memory of one of her professors, the year before, and the expression on his face when he'd _had_ to give her back her exam with an 'A' on it. It was worth the time and energy spent studying for it. 

The wind picked up, and Allegra pulled her jacket tight around her. She'd ended up staying at the library until closing, and she'd been on such a inspired streak on her essay assignment that she'd parked herself on the steps outside, and just kept working. It wasn't until the temperature had started dropping that she'd realized that it was past midnight. 

She was starting to shiver now. It also didn't help that her usual path was looking almost sinister, with the moon barely visible behind the clouds. During the daytime, the area was full of students, but right now it was completely deserted. She was beginning to wish that she'd called campus patrol for an escort. She was quite able to take care of herself, thank you very much, but she was a little weirded out by the way the place looked this late at night. 

She was ducking through one of the parking lots, in behind one of the buildings— from the back, she couldn't even tell which one it was—when she stopped dead. She'd heard something. "Is somebody there?" she called out. 

Silence answered her. 

She started moving again, then stopped. She was sure that she had heard footsteps. They had stopped as soon as she had, but she was _sure_ that they weren't just echoes of her own. 

She was getting seriously weirded out. Not to mention a little panicky. Then she noticed the "help" button, over at the side of the parking lot. They had them all over the campus. If you were in trouble, you just pressed it, and the campus cops came to investigate. 

Maybe it was just her imagination, but she was beyond wanting to take chances. She headed towards the button at a run. Behind her, she heard the footsteps again, but this time they were obviously not echoes. By now she was gasping, but she was almost to the "help" button, when a hand grabbed her by the arm and swung her around. 

She swung her book-bag at her attacker, but he was ready for her. He deflected the blow, easily, and yanked the bag from her hands. He tossed it away, and the contents went flying across the pavement. She tried to make a run for it, but his foot came out to trip her. 

She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, and looked up into the face of her attacker. He was young, not even thirty, she thought. Dark hair tied back in a ponytail, close-cropped beard and mustache. And his eyes... They were empty. Allegra thought, for a moment, that she was going to be sick from fright. 

"Wh... what do you want with me?" She finally asked. 

"You?" The man smiled. It wasn't a very pleasant smile. "Nothing. You are bait. Nothing more, nothing less." 

With that, he yanked her to her feet, making her stumbled. Before she could try to run again, a fist lashed out, and everything went black. 

  
**Cat and Mouse**

The phone was ringing, softly but insistently. 

The Director shot up in her seat at the sound. She hadn't even realized that she'd fallen asleep. She picked up the phone, while wiping the sleep crust from her eyes. 

"Yes?" she barked. 

What she heard made her sit up even straighter in her chair. 

"What? When? Are you sure? Yes. Yes." 

She hung up the phone again. This was not good. 

"Dobrinsky!" She shouted. He appeared at the doorway, looking fresh as a daisy, like he always did. Sometimes it annoyed her, but right now she was to busy to care. "We have a problem." 

* * *

Victor groaned, and hit the alarm clock's off button. The annoying ringing didn't stop. He thought about it for a moment—a difficult thing to do when your brains feel like they've been replaced with cotton balls. Finally he realized that it was the phone ringing, and not the clock. 

He fumbled for the phone, Mac already starting to stir next to him. 

"Yes?" he mumbled into the receiver, once he had it up, and held against his ear properly. 

"You two need to get here, right away." It was the Director. Suddenly, he was _very_ awake. 

"Come to the Agency? Why?" Mac sat up at that, with a worried look on his face. 

"Somebody kidnapped your sister last night." 

"What!?!" 

* * *

Mac had to suppress a shudder as they passed through the doors into the local Agency headquarters. He hadn't been here in more than three years, since the night when he and Vic and LiAnn had gone after the Director in her confrontation with the assassin, Pouchie. The night that they had all nearly died. The night when he and Vic had cut their ties with the past and left to make a new life for themselves in Europe. He had thought—make that _hoped_ —that he would never see this place again. 

It hadn't changed a bit. The bright lights, yellow walls, echoing silence. Vic had commented once on how creepy the place was. How they almost never saw another soul. 

Vic. 

Vic was frantic. He had been since they got the call from the director. The only person who meant as much to him as Mac did was his sister. He felt responsible for her, and now she had disappeared, and Mac had a sinking feeling that it was because of their investigations here. Someone was trying to stop them. But there were too many questions to be sure. 

Hopefully, they would now get answers. 

The Director was waiting for them in the briefing room. It was exactly the same as it had been before. The large conference table, under dim lightly. The stairs leading up to... Well, he'd never actually found out what _was_ up those stairs. LiAnn, Jackie and Dobrinsky were all there too. 

"Talk," Vic said. He didn't seem to be able to say more than one word at a time, right now. 

"There are people I keep an eye on, for various reasons. Your sister is one of them," the Director said. She looked like she hadn't slept in days. "This morning, I got a call. A police report went into the computers. Your sister never went back to her dorm last night. Her roommate didn't worry much. This morning, however, her bag was found in one of the campus parking lots, and there were signs of a struggle. The Kingston police are searching for her." 

"I'm going." 

Mac reached out and grabbed Vic's arm. Not a good idea. "Vic, _think_. If it were just some random psycho, they probably would have... found her already. If it isn't... she doesn't have enemies, but we do. That is probably why she was taken. We need to be someplace where they can contact us." 

The expression on Vic's face said that he heard, and understood, but that he didn't care. He was operating on pure instinct. He tensed up, and Mac could tell that he was about to yank away, when the phone rang. 

Everyone froze, except the Director. She walked over to look at the display and frowned. 

"What?" Vic shouted. 

"The number being called. It's the one I gave Michael Tang. He's the _only_ one I've given that particular number to." 

The phone was still ringing. Mac could feel a knot forming in his stomach. Michael Tang was dead. They _knew_ that. His body had been positively identified, three years ago. So who the hell was using that number? The Director hit the intercom button. 

"Yes?" she barked, her voice filled with a damn good imitation of irritation. 

"You have something I want," a man's voice said. Mac frowned. There was something about the voice. Something very familiar. 

"And that would be?" 

"Mac Ramsey." 

Mac jerked at that. So he was the target. But who the hell was the guy? The voice... he was sure he knew the voice. 

"And?" the Director said, trying to sound bored. 

"Ramsey goes to the hotel where old man Tang died. _Alone_. Once there, he follows instructions. If he does, little miss Mansfield gets released, unharmed. If he doesn't..." 

There was a click, followed by a dial-tone. It was then that a three year-old memory finally clicked for Mac. 

"Mr. Conscience." 

Everyone turned to look at him, confused expressions on their faces. 

"Michael's new 'brother'. The guy who said he was Michael's conscience. That's who that was." 

The Director looked murderous. "I told him what would happen if he stepped foot on this continent again. He doesn't get a second chance," she muttered. Mac was already heading for the door. 

"Where the hell are you going," Vic called out. 

"To do what I'm told," Mac said in a determined voice. 

"He's going to try to kill you." 

"She's my sister too, now. I'm not going to let her be hurt because of me. I think he's telling the truth when he says he'll let her go. Mr. Conscience wouldn't be who he is if he didn't." Mac smiled suddenly. "Besides. _First_ we are planting a tracking device on me where it can't be removed. I'm sure the Agency has something appropriate. He said come alone, but I'm not going if my backup doesn't know how to find me." 

Mac was relived to see a small smile cross Vic's face. Now he just needed to convince the butterflies in his stomach that he was as confident as he sounded. 

* * *

Klaus sat back from the library computer and frowned. It hadn't taken long at all to track down the blonde woman that Blake and Thornton had contacted on their return to Toronto. Her name was Jackie Janczyk, and three and a half years ago, she had been convicted of a variety of mob-related events. At the age of eighteen, she had become head of the Janczyk crime family, and had immediately gotten involved in a mob war with the Tang Family of Hong Kong. Naturally, considering how old and powerful the Tangs were, she had lost. The police had arrested her, and she had been sentenced to fifteen years in jail. 

_But_. This was the interesting part. Only weeks into her sentence, she had been released from custody. He couldn't find any explanation of how or why. It had the GAC and this mysterious Agency written all over it. 

Klaus hunched over the keyboard again, fingers already flying. This might be his chance to find a few more names in this little drama. All he had to do was find out _who_ had arranged Janczyk's release from jail. 

* * *

Vic pulled the car up, outside of the hotel. Mac stared at it for a long moment. In his mind, there was snow on the ground, and Christmas lights on the trees. Over, in front of the door was a black limousine, and a group of men were walking towards it. The driver got behind the wheel. Michael got into the back seat. Father stopped, and looked up. Saw Mac and LiAnn as they walked towards him. The expression in his eyes... Was it anger? Sorrow? Welcome? 

They would never know. A car pulls in, tires screeching. Men jump out. Guns start firing. Father crumples to the ground. He's dying. 

"Mac?" 

Mac shook his head, the past disappearing. Instead, it was early fall, and the leaves were just beginning to turn color. 

"I'm okay," he said, not sure how convincing he sounded. 

"You don't have to..." The expression on Vic's face was torn. He was being asked to chose between his sister's safety and his lover's. Mac reached over and stroked a stubble-roughened cheek. 

"Yes I do, Vic. Don't worry. I doubt he's going to do anything right away. You'll be there before he gets the chance." 

He patted his stomach. Inside him was the latest in Agency toys, a homing beacon that you swallowed. The coating protected it from stomach acids for twenty four hours. After that, the coating and its contents digested easily, with no harm to the system. Powerful, with a range of kilometers, and undetectable to common scanners. 

"I still don't like this." 

Mac leaned over and kissed Vic. It was a soft kiss. A promise. "Neither do I, but there aren't any other options." 

He got out of the car, and watched as Vic drove away. Michael's pal—Paul, he finally remembered—was probably watching to make sure that he _was_ alone. Vic would drive a kilometer or two away, then wait until the creep made his move. At least Mac _hoped_ that he would wait. With Vic, you never knew. 

Mac walked through the front doors, then frowned. The man had said to come here and follow the instructions, but what the hell were they? Now what was he supposed to do? He thought for a moment, then shrugged and headed for the main desk. 

"Sorry to bug you," he said once he had one of the concierges' attention. "Do you have a message for Mac Ramsey?" He felt a little silly, but it was the only thing he could think of. 

The man frowned, then his expression lightened. "Ah, yes I do." He turned, and pulled an envelope from a slot, then handed it to Mac. Mac nodded his thanks and walked away. 

He opened the envelope. The paper inside had only one word written on it. "Kitchen," it said. Mac shrugged, and headed for the restaurant. 

At this hour of the morning, between breakfast and lunch, the room was deserted, but he could hear the sound of lunch preparations coming from behind the swinging doors at the side of the room. He headed through them. On the other side of the doors was a scene of chaos, as white-clad figures rushed around. Others stood at table chopping and dicing and all the other stuff that cooks do. Mac had never really learned how to cook. Besides, Vic did such a great job, so why should he? 

Okay. He was in the kitchen. Now what? 

"Hey!" Mac turned to the man coming towards him, trying to figure out what sort of excuse he could use. "You Ramsey?" 

"Yeah, why?" 

"Through there." The man pointed towards doors at the back of the room. Mac nodded his thanks, and headed in that direction. 

The doors turned out to lead to a small loading dock. This was where the food was delivered for the restaurant, he guessed. He looked around. All he saw was a van, parked at the dock, and a large laundry bag on the ground. 

He was walking towards the van when he heard a noise. He started to turn around, but something hit the back of his head. He saw stars, then everything went black. 

* * *

Victor sat behind the wheel of his car, absently chewing on a fingernail. He was worried about Alice. He'd never wanted his life to touch his sister. He'd done his best to shelter her, from his work as a cop, at the Agency, and his new life as a thief. But now she was in danger, and it was all his fault. 

He was also worried about Mac. The Director had shown him the interrogation reports on this creep from three years ago. Cold, competent and angry over his boss's death. Reading between the lines, he guessed that the man was _more_ than just Michael Tang's bodyguard. All of this did not say good things about his intentions towards Mac. 

Fuck this. 

Victor started the car. He was getting Mac out of there. They'd figure something else out. 

The receiver tuned to Mac's homing beacon was very fine tuned, and it said that Mac was at the back of the building. As Victor came around, he saw a van pull away from one of the rear loading-bays. It took off with a screech. 

Victor's first instinct was to follow the van, but there was a dark lump on the ground, near where the van had been. The lump was moving. 

Worried, he pulled to a stop. It was a large laundry bag, but the contents looked to be too small to be Mac. Victor fumbled with the knot holding the bag shut. Finally, it came loose, and he pulled the neck down. 

"Alice..." he breathed, relieved and scared at the same time. 

"Moose!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. She burst into tears. 

Victor held his sister tight, rocking her. He had Alice back, but Mac was gone, in the hands of a madman. He had to find Mac. Mac would be all right, he told himself. Mac was a survivor. He refused to think otherwise. 

Mac... 

  
**Rescue**

The climb back to consciousness was slow and painful for Mac. His head throbbed, and he could _feel_ the large lump at the back of his skull. He wanted to check it, but his arms didn't seem to be working. 

When he opened his eyes, he found out why. He was tied to some sort of framework, that held his arms up and apart. He could already feel the bruises forming on his wrists from the weight of his body hanging against the ropes that held him. 

He turned his head to look around the room, and immediately wished he hadn't. That small movement made his head throb even more. Mac bit off a moan. 

It looked like he was in some sort of a warehouse. Old, and—considering the amount of dust—not used recently. Light streamed through the broken areas in the windows. The glass was too filthy to let much light through. He shivered in the cool fall air. 

The shivers pointed out something else to him. His clothes were gone. This was _not_ a good sign. He also didn't much like the fact that El Creepo was able to do it while he was unconscious. Made him wonder what else the man might have done. But, no. There was no soreness that might suggest that he had... 

The over-sized room seemed to be empty. No sign of Mr. 'Out for Vengeance'. He thought about calling out, but decided not to. It might attract the _wrong_ sort of attention. He checked his bonds, but they were tight, and the knots well made. He was _not_ going to be able to get himself out of this one. 

But that was all right. All he needed to do was hang on until Victor arrived. If Paul kept his word—and Mac had to believe that he would, or this was all for nothing—he would drop Alice off, or tell them where to find her. Vic would get her to safety, then come for Mac. All he had to do was hang on. Until then, the longer he went without being noticed, the better. 

"Back among the living, Ramsey? How are you doing?" 

So much for that plan. Gingerly, Mac turned his head to the side. Standing in the doorway was Michael's bodyguard, Paul. There was no expression on the bearded face, but the eyes were as cold as ice. Mac had to suppress a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature. 

"Oh, you know. Just hanging around," he said, trying to cover up his nerves with bravado. The other man smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. 

"Save the lip, Ramsey. We both know that your friends are going to be coming, sooner or later. We need to have our fun before then." 

"And what sort of fun would _that_ be." Mac wanted to kick himself for asking. Somehow, he didn't think that he _really_ wanted to know the answer to that question. 

Paul walked over to him, and stopped right in front of him. A hand gently stroked his face, his neck. Then the fingers curved, and his fingernails raked down Mac's chest, leaving fiery red lines in their wake. He held up his hand to show Mac how the nails had been allowed to grow, then had been filed into points. Mac could feel small beads of blood welling up on his chest. 

"Does that answer your question? Just imagine," he said, starting to pace in a circle around Mac. Mac tested the bonds again, trying not to show just how nervous he was getting. "I entertain myself with you," one sharp nail scraped a line across Mac's back, "until your partner gets here. Then, as he comes through the door, I kill him." Suddenly, a gun appeared in front of Mac's eyes. "You'll hang there, and watch as your lover dies, unable to do a thing. And if Miss Tsei comes with him, well, you can watch your _ex_ -lover die as well. And then, when you think that you can't stand to live another moment, I will kill you." 

"Why?" Mac was shaking now. Vic was smart, he told himself. Vic wouldn't walk into a trap that easily. Vic would be safe. 

"You took my lover. I take yours. You destroyed my life, I _take_ yours." 

Mac wasn't surprised to hear his suspicions confirmed. He tried to keep an eye on the other man as he resumed his pacing. Paul was now holding a knife in his left hand. As he paced, he reached out and cut a small line across Mac's stomach. Mac felt a little queasy as a thin trickle of blood flowed down to his groin. The man was certifiable. He had to keep him distracted. He had to hold on until Vic arrived. 

"So..." he said. His voice quavered, and he took a deep breath before trying again. "So, how did you get back into Canada? The Director was keeping an eye on you. You shouldn't have been able to get past her." 

Paul smiled. "It helps to have friends in high places." 

Mac frowned. That didn't make sense. Who could he possibly know that would have the power to get him into the country? The Tang holdings had disintegrated, and he wouldn't have enough clout with them anyway. It didn't make any sense. 

"Why Alice? And how did you connect her to me?" The knife moved to run down the side of his throat. His breath caught, as it started to press in, the pressure stopping just short of breaking the skin. 

"A little bird told me about you and Mansfield. Oh so sweet, the two of you are. Why should _you_ ," a snarl, and a deep cut across one nipple, "have _your_ lover, when mine is _dead_? I was also told that Mansfield had a sister. I knew that you wouldn't let her die. After all, how could you face your lover if that was between you?" 

"Where is she?" Please let her be all right. Please. 

"I left her at the hotel, all bundled up with the laundry. Still breathing," he added. 

Mac remembered the laundry bag next to the van, and breathed a sigh of relief. At least _she_ was okay. 

Paul stepped behind him again. Mac braced himself for another cut. Instead, he heard the sound of the knife hitting the ground, followed by a zipper being undone. His eyes widened, and he tensed up. There was a rustle of cloth, then the warmth of a body pressed up behind him, an erection pushing against him. 

"But why should I wait any longer for my fun?" Paul said in a soft voice. The gun, which he was still holding in his other hand, came up to rest against Mac's cheek. "Hold still, Ramsey." 

"Wait..." 

"Shut up." 

The gun lowered to rest against his genitals. Mac could feel the erection being aimed at his entrance, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to relax. If he relaxed, the damage wouldn't be as bad. This was not something he had counted on. He would survive this, he told himself. Vic loved him, and he _would_ survive this. The pressure built. 

A shot rang out, and two cries echoed through the room, but the expected pain didn't follow. Instead, a cool breeze ran across his suddenly bare back. Mac opened his eyes and twisted, trying to see what was going on. 

"Mac!" 

Mac looked up. Through one of the panes of broken glass, he could just barely make out the shape of his lover. Then one of the doors smashed open, and LiAnn and Jackie appeared, guns brandished. The other door flew open, and Dobrinsky was there as well. 

Mac sagged against the ropes, dizzy with relief. Behind him, he could hear the cries of pain from his now _former_ captor as he was restrained by Dobrinsky. LiAnn had the man's knife, and was cutting him down. 

The ropes parted, just as Vic reached the floor. "Mac, are you all right?" he said, grabbing on to Mac before he could collapse to the ground. 

"Oh, yeah. Just peachy," Mac said. Then everything went black again. 

* * *

The next time that Mac came around, he was in the Agency infirmary. He was dressed, and he could feel the bandages covering his cuts and bruises. He turned his head, and saw Vic sitting in a chair at his bedside. On the other side of the room, he could see Alice, asleep on another bed. She looked okay. Good. 

He cleared his throat, experimentally, and Vic's eyes flew open. 

"How..." Mac swallowed, trying to get his throat moist. Vic grabbed a glass of water and held the straw for him. "How is she?" he asked, after a few grateful swallows. 

"Fine. Just scared. How about you?" 

"I've been better, but I've also been a hell of a lot worse. What about _him_?" 

Vic gave a predatory smile. "The docs patched him up. He's with the Director, right now." 

Mac shuddered. Being on the receiving end of one of the Director's interrogations was something he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. On second thought, he'd make an exception in this case. 

The was a movement from the other side of the room, and Mac looked over to see Alice's eyes open. She looked over, then sat up in the other infirmary bed. 

"You're awake!" 

She came flying across the room, only to stop at the foot of the bed. Mac watched in confusion as she shifted nervously from foot to foot. Finally, he couldn't stand it any more. 

"What's wrong, kiddo?" 

Her face crumpled up. "I'm sorry," she said, tears starting to well up. "It's my fault that you got hurt." 

Mac rolled his eyes, then held out his arms. "C'mere, kiddo." He waited until she worked up the nerve to come close enough for him to hug. "It's not your fault, Allegra. _I_ was the one he wanted. If it wasn't you, he would have found something else, someone else. If anything, it's _my_ fault that _you_ went through this. Forgive me?" 

Alice sniffed. "Of course. You're my brother-in-law, after all." 

Mac could see the smile on Vic's face. "Yeah, I am, aren't I?" 

* * *

"I warned you. I told you what would happen if you ever showed your face on this continent again. Didn't I?" 

The Director paced in a circle around the chair that the man was tied to. A doctor had dealt with his wounds, and he now sat, stony-faced, staring straight ahead. He gave no sign of having heard her. 

She placed a hand on his shoulder, not far from the spot where Victor had shot him, and squeezed. She was pleased to see him flinch. She was working very hard to restrain her anger. 

"I want to know how you got into the country. I want to know how you knew to target Alice Mansfield. I want to know _everything_." 

No answer, but she hadn't really expected one. She walked over to the table that sat against the wall. On it was a variety of objects. She passed over the cruder implements that she might have _preferred_ to use, and picked up a hypodermic needle, already filled with a clear fluid. 

"If you won't tell me what I need to know, willingly," she said, tapping the needle and squeezing out a single drop of liquid to make sure that there were no air bubbles, "then I guess you'll have to tell me _unwillingly_." 

Now the man was showing some emotion. Despite his best efforts, his face showed nervousness as she plunged the needle into his arm and injected the liquid. Almost immediately, his body started to relax. 

"This is a new development of the Agency. A variation on the ever-popular truth serum. Now, let's start again." 

The would-be killer opened his mouth and started to talk. 

* * *

The Director left the room, taking deep breaths as she went. LiAnn and Dobrinsky were waiting for her in the hall. 

"Have that disposed of," she told Dobrinsky. The drug that she had injected the man with _was_ a variation on the truth serum, cooked up by the Agency scientists. What she _hadn't_ told him was that while the drug was a _very_ effective truth serum, death was an... unfortunate side-effect. 

"Well?" asked LiAnn. There was no censure on the young woman's face. Instead, just the same fierce determination that she knew was on her own. She'd had to keep LiAnn away from the man. Her reaction to Mac's injuries had been a rage that would have let her cheerfully kill the man, even though she might have regretted it later. 

"He was approached by a man in Hong Kong. The man offered to arrange to get him into Canada. Gave him the information he needed to target Victor's sister." 

"When?" 

"Three days ago." 

LiAnn frowned. The Director could almost see the gears turning. "Before the boys went to London, but after they arrived here. Someone knew they were investigating, and wanted them out of the way. Who?" 

"From the description, I'd say that it was the Head. It certainly seems to match, and that confirms our suspicions." 

The Director shut her eyes, and took a deep breath. "Now the question is why? And what do we do about it?" 

There was no response. They were questions that didn't have answers. 

At least, not yet. 

* * *

Jackie drove away from the Agency headquarters, doing her best to concentrate on the road. She liked Mac. She liked him a lot. Seeing him hanging there, naked and bleeding, had left her seeing red. If they didn't need information from the creep, she would have killed him right there. At least she knew that the Director wasn't going to let him live. She'd made _that_ quite clear. 

Jackie was so distracted by the events of the day that she was almost home before she noticed that she'd picked up a tail. She could have kicked herself. Like she'd told Vic once, years ago, she'd been the subject of surveillance since she was in kindergarten. She should have seen him sooner. 

She'd seen him now, so what did she do about it? That was easy. Lose him. Besides, she had a date with Dobrinsky, and she didn't have the time for this bullshit. 

* * *

Klaus pulled into over at the side of the road, and hit the steering wheel. He obviously needed a refresher course in surveillance. She _never_ should have seen him following her, but she had. And then she'd made losing him look like child's play. 

Scratch one avenue of investigation. Like the Mansfield and Ramsey, Janczyk would now be on her guard. On the other hand, he now knew where they were based. At least, that was where he'd followed them to, twice that day, and where he'd followed the woman from. 

Since he started following the two men, early that morning, he'd been more and more confused. First to this... place, then a hotel. Then Mansfield had come back here, with a young girl who bore a remarkable resemblance to him (a sister, maybe?). Then, along with Janczyk, a black man and an oriental woman, he'd taken off for an abandoned warehouse. Klaus had watched the four went in. There were shots, and when they came out, Mansfield was carrying an obviously battered Ramsey, and the black man was carrying a handcuffed and bleeding man. 

He still wasn't sure what had gone down, but he hoped that Ramsey was all right. He wasn't sure why, but he liked the brash young man. 

  
**Running in Circles**

Mac rolled over in bed, reaching for his lover. His questing hand found only empty sheets, still warm from body-heat. He opened his eyes and frowned. Why was he alone in bed? The sound of liquid hitting porcelain, coming through the open bathroom door, answered his question. He stretched, wincing a little as his cuts and scrapes tried to reopen. 

The doc had told him that he wouldn't have any permanent scars, at least not of the physical variety. He had suggested that Mac see some sort of shrink, but there was no way he was going to do _that_. Besides, he had Vic. That was all he needed. 

So they now had confirmation that the Head was behind the attempt to get rid of him and Vic. That seemed to confirm that he was also behind the deaths of the directors around the world. The only problem was that they didn't have any idea how to find him. Mac was getting _really_ tired of being a target. 

The last confirmed sighting, now, was Hong Kong. It also seemed suggestive, considering the director for Asia was the first death. The Director had sent everything they knew to all of the remaingin Agency directors. He and Vic were no longer working on their own. Agency operatives around the world were on the hunt now. 

As for the two of them, now that their involvement was common knowledge, they were no longer holed up in crummy hotel rooms. Instead, they were in an agency safehouse. Actually, they were in Vic's old apartment. Most of the furniture was the same, and the walls were even the same bright yellow. It was quite nostalgic, in a way. After all, this was the bed that they had first made love in, that drunken night after LiAnn had told Vic that she didn't want to marry him. This was the bed where he had offered Vic what he considered his virginity. He hadn't really been a virgin, but it was the first time that anyone had taken him with so much love and care, not violence and pain. 

The light under the bathroom door went out, and the door opened. Mac waited until Vic had padded silently across the room and climbed back into bed before he turn and draped himself across the other man. 

"Sorry," Vic whispered. "Didn't mean to wake you up." 

"You didn't. I rolled over, and woke up when I realized that I was alone." That statement got him thoroughly kissed. 

"What's wrong?" The quiet question came just as Mac was starting to drift off, cuddled in his lover's arms. 

"Hmmm?" 

"Don't give me that, Mac. I know you too well. Something is bothering you. Is it what happened today?" 

Mac rolled his eyes. Vic would have to choose _now_ for a heart-to-heart. "It's nothing." 

Vic's eyes narrowed. "C'mon, Mac..." 

"You won't get anything from me, copper," Mac growled is a movie-criminal voice, spoiled only by the grin on his face. Vic started to grin too. 

"Well, if _that's_ the way you want to play it..." 

Vic rolled over, hard, and Mac found himself pinned to the mattress. Deft fingers roamed over his ribs, making him both laugh _and_ writhe. He deliberately guided his motions so that they brought him into full contact with Vic's body. The large, heated object in the other man's briefs told him that he was successful. Finally, Vic simply dropped his full weight onto Mac, holding him immobile, and his mouth descended to plunder Mac's. 

Mac moaned, deep in his throat, and responded with everything he had, despite the fact that he couldn't move. He was really getting into it when Vic pulled away, his face serious again. 

"Viiiccc..." 

"No more distractions, Mac. Give." 

Mac gave a deep sigh, which ruffled his lover's bangs. "Fine. I'm just wondering..." 

"Yes?" 

"Before, the Director and company were still the only ones who knew we were alive. Now the entire Agency knows. We're not getting out of here, are we?" 

Vic's face hardened. "I'm not going back, and neither are you. I'm sure that the Director will back us up. Besides, we don't even know if there's going to _be_ an Agency much longer. If we don't find the Head..." 

"Yeah. He kills off all the directors, and then... What if he starts on the agents next? Or sets someone else to do it? Hell, he's already tried to have us killed once! Next time it might work." 

Mac continued to rant, trying to ignore the fact that Vic had started nuzzling at his neck. "Umm... Vic... I'm not feeling a lot of sympathy, here." No, but he _was_ feeling something else, and it was pressing into his groin in a delicious way. 

"Mac... All we can do is try to help resolve this mess, as quickly as possible. _Then_ we can start worrying about the rest of it. Right now, all I care about is that I might have lost you today. I nearly died when I saw him holding that gun on you. I almost couldn't take that shot, I was so worried about hitting you, but I couldn't let him..." Vic's voice choked off. 

Mac raised a hand, and wiped a stray tear from Vic's face. "I'm all right, love. I got hurt worse the time I took a spill down that hillside in Switzerland." Both men grinned at the memory of the 'caper' that had almost gone wrong, two years earlier. 

Mac coaxed his lover back down into a slow, deep kiss. When they pulled apart, Vic was smiling again. He used a fingertip to trace Mac's lips. 

"What do you want, Mac," he asked in a low voice. "Anything you want tonight." 

"I want you to love me, long and slow." 

Vic's smile got wider. "I can do that," he said, then lowered his face for another gentle kiss. 

The kisses went on, until Mac felt like he was drifting on a gentle cloud, buoyed by the feeling of loving and being loved. He almost didn't notice when the kisses moved from his lips to his cheeks, and then the rest of his face. 

Time ceased to have meaning, as every part of his face was explored. He realized that Vic's hands had joined in. Unlike earlier, this time they were gentle, soothing rather than arousing. Mac sighed as his nipples were stroked, then rolled between fingertips. Then he gasped as lips and tongue followed the fingers, teasing the buds of flesh until he was groaning at the sensation. 

"Vic, please..." 

"Shhh. Long and slow, you said." 

So he had. Mac closed his eyes, and gave himself up to the sensations. Every portion of his body was examined, pampered, with fingers and lips and other parts of Vic's body. In the only coherent part of his brain, he marveled at the man's control. Mac undulated against the mattress, unable to stop himself. 

Finally, Vic rolled him onto his side, and coaxed him into bending his top leg slightly. Then he was spooned up behind Mac, his lubricated cock pressing gently against Mac's rear entrance. Mac's body was so relaxed, and so used to Vic, that the muscle quickly relaxed so that Vic could gently push his way in. Once his pelvis was pressed tightly against Mac's ass, he paused. Mac could feel lips pressed against the back of his neck, and arms came around to cradle him against a muscular chest. He gave a slow roll, encouraging his lover to move. 

Long, slow thrusts answered him, and he moaned quietly at the gentle motion. There was no rush, no worry. This was all that there was in the world, at that moment. Hand ran over his chest, not pushing, just touching. 

Loved, as he knew himself to be, Mac had never felt so... cherished before. In Vic's arms, he didn't need to worry about the Agency, killer Heads, assassins, or anything else. As long as they were together, they would be all right. 

Then a hand curled around his erection, and he was pulsing into it, small whimpers of pleasure the only sounds that he made. Behind him, Vic thrust in, all the way, and held still. Inside him, he could feel spread of liquid warmth. 

When Vic started to move away, Mac reached back to grasp his hip, not wanting to loose the feeling of possession just yet. Vic's arms tightened around him, and they rested together. 

"Love you..." 

Mac drifted off to sleep, not quite sure which of them had spoken. 

* * *

The hunt was on. The Asia office used the information extracted from Paul before his... unfortunate demise, to track down the Head's base in Hong Kong. Unfortunately, it was empty and had been for a days. The only thing left behind was a rather large bomb, which took out the entire Agency team sent to search the old office building. The explosion was big enough that it was reported on CNN, and led to speculation on Chinese terrorists. 

Tracking led to Australia, but all leads _there_ came up blank. After that, nothing. 

Over the next few weeks, there were sightings reported all over the world, some of them simultaneous, and obviously impossible. After the fast pace of the start of the investigation, the Toronto group was getting twitchy, wondering what was going to happen and when. 

* * *

Klaus hung up the phone, scowling in frustration. He'd just been ordered back to Europe. His superiors had told him that he was wasting his time in Canada, and that he was to get back to the work they paid him for. 

Only weeks ago, they had been behind his investigation, especially after the death in London, they'd wanted to know everything about this mysterious 'Agency'. So why the sudden turnaround? 

The only explanation that made any sense was the Government Advisory Council. No one liked them. In fact, most organizations in the world resented them, and their power. Governments fear them and law-enforcement agencies suspected their motives. 

But when they said jump, _everyone_ competed to see who could leap higher. Klaus sighed, and started packing his suitcase. He needed a cigarette. 

* * *

The Director pushed back from her desk with a frown, and removed her glasses. The latest sighting, this time in Vancouver, could neither be confirmed, nor disproved. Her instincts were saying that it was a _real_ sighting, and she had already assigned five operatives to check it out. 

She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease their tension. She really should be home, but she felt like she needed to be right where she was. Something told her that they were at a crucial moment. There was nothing she could put her finger on, but the hairs on the back of her neck said that the end was coming, and soon. 

She wasn't the only one who felt it. LiAnn and the boys were downstairs. They had showed up around lunchtime, and showed no signs of calling it quits for the night. It was like they also felt that here was were they needed to be. 

She sighed, and pulled the papers back to in front of her. She was going over the records of all flights out of Vancouver since the sighting. It was a long-shot, but there might be something. 

Her eyes were burning when she found it. Desmond Smiley was listed as being on a flight from Vancouver to... Toronto. It was so blatant, she knew she was supposed to find it. Desmond had been the previous director for the Eastern United States. He had also tried to overthrow the Head, using her as a programmed assassin. The Head had killed him, and wiped everyone else's memories. It had taken her weeks of investigation to piece together the details of what had happened, and she still didn't know everything about what had happened. 

It was too obvious. Either it was misdirection, or he wanted her to know... The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end again. 

She wasn't sure what alerted her. She didn't even make a conscious decision. She simply threw herself to the side, acting purely on instinct, and a knife went through the spot that her back had occupied only moments before. 

  
**Climax**

"Tell me again why we're here," Mac said, perched on the edge of the large conference table that dominated the room, swinging his leg to tap against one of the table supports. LiAnn looked up from the file she was reading, a slight frown on her face at the disturbance. 

"Well, _I_ am actually working, while I wait for Di," she said, one eyebrow arching up. Mac rolled his eyes, and looked over at Vic. 

Vic was pacing back and forth, the length of the table, showing no signs of having heard anything that Mac had said. Mac waved his hand to get his lover's attention, and repeated the question. 

"I... have a feeling," Vic finally said, a slightly confused expression on his face. "I just think that we need to be here." Green eyes pleaded for him to understand. 

Mac sighed, and flopped into one of the chairs, and swung his legs up so that he could rest his feet on the tabletop. Fine. If Vic thought that this was where they should be, this is where they would be. 

"Any more word on the head?" he asked, more for conversation than anything else. LiAnn sighed. 

"Nope, nada, nothing. It's like he fell off the face of the earth. Of course, that's the way it was before, but _still_ , it shouldn't be this difficult to find one man!" The frustration was getting to her. Mac could tell. LiAnn had never liked unsolved cases, and this one was a doozy. 

He was considering suggesting that they send out for some takeout Chinese when they all sat up. Above them, in the Director's office, they heard a loud thud. 

For a moment, they all froze. Mac wondered if she had thrown something across the room in frustration or something. Then common sense reasserted itself, and they were all running for the stairs, weapons being drawn. 

He'd never been up the stairs. Despite a healthy amount of curiosity, he'd also had an equally healthy sense of self-preservation, and he'd never worked up the nerve to risk what the Director would mete out as punishment for invading her Sanctum Sanctorum. 

At the top of the stairs was a short hallway. To one side was an open door, which led to some sort of posh meeting room, currently unoccupied. Mac guessed that this was where Michael had been sent, the one time. At the end of the hallway was another door, shut. 

On the other side of the door, they could hear thumps and bangs. Not the sounds of a rage or frustration. A battle, more likely... 

Vic tried the door handle. It was locked. LiAnn punched a code in the touch pad next to the door. It was still locked. If only the damn thing had a _normal_ lock, Mac thought, he could pick it. But, noooo... The Agency had to be high tech with their locks. 

Mac was about to suggest that Vic go to work on the electric locking system, that being _his_ specialty, but LiAnn obviously wasn't in the mood to wait. Instead, she proceeded to prove that the door lock might not be easy to pick, but it certainly wasn't bullet-proof. 

The door could no longer resist a forcefully applied shoulder, and they piled through the door, all wondering what they were going to see. 

* * *

The Director wasn't sure what had prompted her to throw herself out of the path of the knife that nearly ended her life. Was there a sound? Did she feel a change in the air currents? Whatever the reason, she did, and it saved her life, at least for the moment, so she wasn't inclined to over-analyze it. 

She rolled as she hit the floor, and came up facing her attacker, and was not surprised by what she saw. 

The figure was completely shrouded by voluminous orange robes. She couldn't tell his body type, the hood obscured his face. In fact, the only thing that even said that the person was a man was his hands, which held a knife. They were decidedly masculine. 

Behind him was an open panel in the wall, and she immediately understood how it was that the other directors could have been killed in their locked offices. When the various headquarters were built, the Head must have quietly arranged to have secret passages built into each one, so that he would be able to come and go as he chose, no matter what the preferences of the individual directors, or whatever security systems they might have installed. 

"Why?" she gasped out as she tried to figure out how to get back to her desk, and the gun in the drawer there. "Why do this?" 

The man chuckled, and she instantly recognized the almost kindly sound as belonging the man that she had known as the Head. "Why not? I formed the Agency for a purpose, and it has served that purpose. Now that its purpose is finished, it is time to dismantle it." 

The Director frowned. What purpose? "Then why start killing people?" she said, feinting a move around the desk. The man immediately moved to block her. She lashed out with a fist, and the man blocked, then countered with a blow that knocked her off her feet. She immediately moved out of reach. She kept one eye on the knife, but held ready. There was no telling what other weapons he might be hiding inside his robes. 

The man tsked, and she could imagine the smile on the face that she had never seen. "The directors have grown accustomed to their power. They would never give it up, willingly. No. To end the Agency, the directors would have to be... disposed of. Like a snake, if you cut off the head, the body will die." 

"The boys..." The boys. If she just made enough noise to get their attention. But the door locked automatically. She would have to get the door open. 

"They were too much of a risk. They might have come close. And besides," he added with a shrug, "Mac shot me once. Did you _really_ think I would let that go? Oh, but I forget, you don't remember that." 

Actually, there had been fresh bloodstains in the warehouse when they had woken, memories wiped, but they hadn't matched anyone on record. Now she knew why. After all, the Head was not likely to let his blood type, DNA or fingerprints be in the Agency database. 

She could hear hammering on the door, but it was locked. She moved towards it, but the Head got between her and it. "It really is a pity," he said in a sympathetic voice. "I really did like you. I planned to leave you for last, but you caught on too fast. You are too much of a danger to me. Because of you, my plans have had to be stepped up. That is why I must kill you now." 

His hand dipped inside his robes, and he pulled a gun. His move to block her from opening the door had let her make it to her desk, and she was reaching for her own gun, wondering if her desk would be able to shield her from the Head's shot. At the same moment, there were shots from behind the man, and the door burst open. 

* * *

Victor nearly froze, as they came through the door. In front of him was the figure that had shown up in his dreams, on a regular basis, since before he and Mac had left the Agency. The dreams of an orange-clad man who spoke in riddles. 

There were no riddles _now_ , though. The Director was standing behind her desk, a gun in her hand. She was breathing hard, and a red mark spread across her cheek, the eye already swelling shut. Between her and them was the... Head. Had to be. In one hand, he held a gun, pointed at her. In the split second since they came through the door, a second gun appeared out of his robes, and into his other hand. It was pointed at them. 

"Ah, good," he said in an accent that was fakely cultured. "You decided to join us. Now I can deal with you all at once." 

"I don't _think_ so," LiAnn said in a snarl. 

But it was a Mexican stand-off. Could they shoot him before he shot the Director? Before he shot them? For long moments, no one moved. 

All of a sudden, Victor was sure that the man was smiling. He couldn't see his face, but his body language seemed to imply... humor. The gun pointed at them twitched. 

"Planning on shooting me again, Mac?" 

"Huh?" 

For a moment, they were all thrown off by the question. What was he talking about, 'again'? 

Victor realized, almost too late, that this was exactly the reaction that the man was looking for. Mac's gun dipped slightly, and LiAnn's eyes flickered towards his face. But Victor managed to keep his eyes on the gunman, so he saw as the trigger finger began to tighten. 

The three shots were deafening, as they echoed through the room. The Head's shot missed Mac by the narrowest of margins. Victor's shot took him in the shoulder, forcing him to drop one of his guns. 

The Director's shot took him in the side of the head, killing him instantly. 

Victor gave a deep sigh, as the body collapsed to the ground. Across the room, the Director slumped into her chair, gun still in hand. Mac looked... white. The bullet had missed him, but he had probably felt its passage through the air. 

LiAnn was already at the phone, calling for a cleanup crew. The Head's body was now lying in a spreading pool of blood. Victor looked up, and met the Director's eyes. He could read the questions in her eyes. 

With the Head dead, the killings would stop. But now what? Half of the directors were dead. The head of the Agency was dead. What would happen to the organization now? 

  
**Going Home**

"It's been... interesting," Victor said, holding out his hand to the Director. She smiled, and shook it. 

"Almost like old times. Are you sure that I can't change your mind?" 

Victor shook his head. He knew that she didn't really expect any different answer. "No. We're happy with our life, and we don't want to come back to the Agency, not even as joint directors for Western Europe. Sorry, you'll have to find someone else." 

With the Head gone, the Agency had been thrown into disarray. The only one to keep their head was the Director, so it had been no surprise when the survivors had asked her to become the new Head. One of her first orders of business had been to name replacement directors for the dead. LiAnn, who was over in a corner talking to Mac, had been the first appointment. LiAnn Tsei, director for Canada. Had a nice ring to it, Victor thought 

The old Head had been mysterious, and nearly impossible to find. The new one would be based from Toronto. The old Head didn't have a face. The new one is well known. 

One thing she'd immediately ordered was an examination of _every_ Agency holding, looking for more of the secret passages. The last thing that she wanted was for there to be unknown back-doors into the various headquarters. 

It wasn't really a surprise, when she'd asked him and Mac to take over the London office. Victor had been expecting it, and he was equally sure that she'd expected the refusal. Even when they'd been working for her, no matter how much they'd agreed with _some_ of the results, they had hated the methods, and they hadn't hidden their distaste. 

"You do know, of course," he told her, "that we will be there, if it _is_ really urgent." She nodded, as he offered up a silent prayer that it never would be needed for them to work for the Agency again. 

"It goes both ways," she said. "Don't be afraid to call if _you_ need anything." 

Victor turned, and went over to where his sister was waiting with Jackie and Dobrinsky. "Alice..." She frowned at him, but didn't look _too_ upset. He smiled, and started again. "Allegra. I'm really sorry that you got dragged into this." 

"Don't be. Hey," she said brightly. "It wasn't any worse than being the sucker sent to deliver a bomb. Besides, it gave me a chance to see you again." 

Victor opened his arms, and hugged his sister tightly when she stepped into them. They stood there, embracing, for long moments. When they came apart, Mac and LiAnn had come over and were waiting. 

"You know," Victor said, trying to wipe away a tear without being noticed. He wasn't successful. "Mac and I were thinking. After school lets out next spring... Would you consider coming to spend the summer with us? In France?" 

Her face lit up. "That'd be _great_ , Moose!" 

Victor smiled at the childhood nickname. "We'll work it out." 

He stepped out of the way, and let Mac and Alice exchange hugs, while he squeezed LiAnn. LiAnn in his arms was something he hadn't experienced in years. In felt good, but any sexual feelings he may have felt for her in the past, they were obviously dead. Instead, it felt like hugging Alice had. Good, but like siblings, not ex-lovers. 

He stepped back. Behind him, he could hear Alice admonishing Mac to look after her big brother, and Mac assuring her that he always did. 

"Sure, Mac. And who is it who wants to break into the _most_ heavily guarded crime-lord compound in Europe just to see if we can?" 

Mac was spluttering protests, when the announcement of their flight came. Quickly, they exchanged a last round of hugs. Victor and Mac both even hugged the Director and Jackie, although they drew the line at Dobrinsky. Then they were headed for the boarding area. 

They were going home. 

* * *

LiAnn stepped up behind the Director, and wrapped her arms around the smaller woman. 

"You know, I'm going to miss them," the older woman said. LiAnn smiled, and rubbed her cheek against the auburn waves. 

"So will I. At least we know where to find them, now. Nothing says that we can't contact them just to say hi." 

"I suppose. C'mon," the woman said, straightening up. "We've got a lot of work to do. Let's get going." 

* * *

On the plane, Mac couldn't sleep. He was exhausted, but the events of the last few days had left him to keyed up to rest. Beside him, Vic shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. He didn't seem any more able to rest. 

"Did we do the right thing?" 

Vic turned to face him. "Turning her down? I think so. She'll probably make changes, but we both know that she's the type that thinks that the ends justifies the means. I don't think either of us would be happy there for long, do you?" 

Mac shook his head. "Nah. I _like_ the way we've been living, and I'll be glad to get home. There's just one thing that bugs me..." 

"The Head." 

Mac nodded. The Director had repeated what the man had said, about the Agency having served its purpose. The big question was, what _was_ that purpose. Considering the man, he wasn't sure that he _wanted_ to know, but they better find out. That was going to be the first assignment of the new and improved Agency. 

But he wasn't sure that he cared. He was looking forward to going back to being Matt Blake. He was looking forward to going home. 

* * *

Victor tossed his bags in the corner of the room. Home looked very good. He tossed himself onto the couch, and heaved a sigh. The trip had been long, and tiring. 

He looked up when Mac made a rude noise. His partner was leaning against the wall, sorting through the hefty pile of mail that had accumulated during their absence. Later on, they would check with their answering service for phone messages. 

"What is it?" 

"A letter from Klaus. Basic gist is that he's still watching us. Don't step out of line, et cetera, et cetera." 

Vic groaned. They might not be under the Agency's thumb anymore, but they were a little to well-known with the wrong people. "We could move, change identities," he suggested. Mac shook his head. 

"Abandon our home? Start over from scratch? I don't know about you, but I'm a little too old for that." Victor grinned. Mac hadn't even hit his thirtieth birthday yet. "Besides, unlike Toronto, this is _home_ , and I refuse to let anyone chase me out of it." 

"Amen," Victor replied. 

"But I wonder... Why did he just give up and disappear like that? I mean, I assume that he was the guy who was following Jackie. He certainly didn't _seem_ like the sort of guy to just give up, especially after what happened in London." 

"I don't think he did. At least not voluntarily. Nah, I don't think he had a choice. Somebody ordered him to back off, and I can guess who." 

Mac's mouth twisted, in a slightly bitter expression. "The GAC." 

"Exactly." 

"Great. Just what we need. Well, just as long as they stay _out_ of out way." 

"Amen to that," Victor said with feeling. 

* * *

They did a quick check of the house and grounds, checking for any damage or signs of forced entry. Everything was in remarkably good shape after their absence, although the garden was looking a little out of control. They would take care of that over the next few days. 

Dinner was from the freezer. Victor noted that their supply of pre-cooked meals was getting low. Luckily, the next day was market day, in town. They would do some shopping, and he would spend the next few days in the kitchen, preparing meals for freezing. It would be an easy way to slip back into being Richard Thornton. 

And after that? Maybe a security job or two. Maybe even take on that heavily-guarded compound, like Mac wanted. The way he was feeling now, Victor felt he could take on the world. And win. 

But that could wait until later. 

They went to bed early, still a little jet-lagged. Victor was feeling very mellow and happy. When Mac started fondling him, he responded in a languid way. He rolled onto his back, and stretched out, open to whatever Mac wanted. 

What Mac wanted was familiar and welcome. He gently stroked and coaxed Victor to full arousal, before taking him into his mouth. While his tongue traced complex patterns on Victor's cock, his fingers teased at the opening lower down. Victor groaned, and brought his knees up and apart, inviting Mac to take him. Mac refused the invitation, instead focusing on pulling Victor's orgasm from him. 

At the last moment, he pulled away. A last few pumps of the hand, and Victor's seed was filling his hand. Boneless, Victor was unable to resist, or even assist, when Mac used his own semen to prepare him, before sinking to the hilt in one long push. 

After four years, the rhythm was familiar and effortless. As he recovered, Victor flexed his internal muscles, milking the cock that thrust into him. 

"God... Vic..." Mac groaned, the tempo of his thrusts starting to become uneven. It didn't take much more to tip him over the edge. 

When Mac collapsed on top of him, panting, and already half-asleep, Vic captured his mouth for a long kiss. When they pulled apart, Mac was smiling. 

"Welcome home, Moose." 

"Don't call me Moose," Victor said with a smile 

Home. What a wonderful word. 

THE END 


	5. Revenge of the Bolsheviks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with my series, Drowning Sorrows builds around the series John Woo's Once a Thief, and the growing relationship between Victor Mansfield and Mac Ramsey. At the end of the TV series, they were apparently killed in an explosion. In my world, they took the chance to leave the country, heading for Europe, where they made a life for themselves as security experts... and thieves. Always a Thief picks up three years later, when trouble inside the Agency forces the Director to call them in for help, finally admitting that she knew they were still alive. Also drawn in to the trouble is Klaus von dem Eberbach, formerly a Major in NATO Intelligence, now in Interpol. People familiar with the japanese comic (manga) series 'From Eroica With Love' will recognize Klaus. Revenge of the Bolsheviks is the newest book in the Drowning Sorrows series. A mysterious organization kidnaps Mac and the Earl Dorian Red Gloria (also known as the thief Eroica). What are they up to? Starts about six months after the end of Always A Thief. There is also a couple of side stories that falls between Drowning Sorrows and Always a Thief, and I'm sure that there will be more to come.

**Book Three**

Revenge of the Bolsheviks 

  
  
**Phase I**

The man sitting in the swivel-chair turned to pin each person in the room with a hard look. The only sound was the slight squeak from the chair. 

"Is everyone clear on the plan?" 

Everyone in the room nodded. There was an atmosphere of muted anticipation. This was the moment that they'd been working towards for the last decade. 

"Good. Phase one has begun. You know what to do." 

The room cleared, except for the one who had spoken. He remained seated, going over the plan in his mind. He was satisfied. Every contingency had been taken into account. They would not— _could_ not—fail. 

Let the world tremble. 

* * *

Mac Ramsey was bored. Bored, bored, boredboredbored. 

He looked longingly at the tray of champagne glasses that was being maneuvered through the room by one of the black-clad waiters, but didn't take one. Black was obviously the theme at this little soiree. All the men wore black suits—all the same style, for the most part—and black evening gown was the dress of preference among the women, with the occasional splash of scarlet or royal blue to provide color. 

Of course he wasn't really in a position to complain. He was dressed in the standard black tuxedo as well. His only departures from that standard were a green cummerbund—to remind himself of his lover's eyes—and a matching emerald ear-stud. For a moment he wondered what the reaction would have been if he had shown up in a powder-blue suit, or something equally tacky. 

No. He was on a job, so it wouldn't have gone over well. _Never_ annoy the customers. Mac glanced over at Herr Bernhoff, scion of a noble line of Teutonic descent. Mac had already been treated to a lengthy lecture on his employer's lofty blood-line and the glories of its members. Luckily, the portly little man was too busy sucking up Princess Whatserface, 27th in line for the throne of a postage-stamp sized kingdom that Mac had never heard of, to continue the history lesson. Why the man insisted he needed a bodyguard, Mac wasn't sure, but he had and he was paying handsomely. Normally, Thornton & Blake would be providing the security for the event, not just one man. 

And it was a job for just one man, which was why Mac was on his own. He _really_ wished that Victor was here. They could have traded barbs about the well-heeled—but vapid—crowd that filled the reception hall for the opening gala for the exhibit of Faberge eggs. But Vic had decided that since Herr Bernhoff insisted that he trusted no one but the Thornton & Blake Security Agency, Mac would go. After all, he said, Mac was much more familiar with these sorts of affairs than an ex-cop from Canada. And he looked better in a tux too—a statement that Mac had to agree with. 

But still, he wished that he had fought a little harder. Much longer here and he was going to die from boredom. 

A stir at the main doors caught his attention, along with everyone else's. When he finally saw what was causing the commotion, he had to resist the urge to whistle. This guy was definitely _not_ your normal party-goer. At least not for _these_ sorts of parties. 

The man was tall—taller than Mac, and he towered over a good percentage of the room. He was slim, but muscular, and carried himself with the grace of a dancer or martial artist. His features bordered on a delicate beauty, without ever becoming effete. His hair was a tumble of blond curls that brushed his shoulders, perfectly matched by bright blue eyes. He was beautiful, but undeniably masculine. 

And his _clothes_. He would stand out in a crowd anywhere, but among the formal black dress of _this_ crowd, he stood out like a peacock among peahens. Instead of a black suit, he wore breaches of a deep sapphire blue. Above it, he wore a blouse of pure white. Combined with a midnight blue jacket and black, knee-high boots, he looked ready for the hunt. A heavy silver necklace around his throat completed the ensemble. 

From across the room, Mac's eyes met the other man's. For a brief moment, Mac was certain that he knew this man. But he was equally certain that he'd never met the man. 

Mac shook himself. Herr Bernhoff was his business, not blondie. He scanned the room again, evaluating any risks, and again found that there were none. Then he moved back to stand near the portly German. 

A few minutes later, there was a tap on his shoulder. Mac turned and found himself face to face—almost nose to nose—with blondie. The handsome man was smiling. 

"I don't believe we've met," he said with a British accent. "I'm sure I would remember seeing someone of your... caliber at these events." 

Mac snorted at the subtle comment on the fact that he was armed. "Matthew Blake, of Thornton & Blake Security. Just a bodyguard." 

Blondie's smile grew wider. "Somehow I doubt that you are 'just' anything," he said, taking Mac's hand in a strong grip, but just holding it instead of shaking it. For a moment Mac was certain that he was going to kiss it, as if Mac were a woman. "Dorian, Earl of Red Gloria," the man said, finally introducing himself. 

"An Earl?" Mac said, raising his eyebrows in mock-surprise. "Should I bow?" 

Dorian's laughter chimed through the room. They had attracted an audience by this point. 

"Please don't," he said. "Mr. Blake, you are a breath of fresh air in here. I certainly hope to see you again later." 

"I'm sure you will," Mac said with a grin. Then the hostess was pulling the Earl away, no doubt horrified that he'd spent so much time with someone who was basically hired help. He certainly hoped that he'd meet up with the flirtatious nobleman again. It looked like his presence was the next-best thing to having Vic around to trade comments with. 

But he still had the weirdest feeling that he'd seen the man before. But where? 

* * *

"Really, Dorian. He's a pretty boy, but surely not of any _real_ interest." 

Dorian smiled and let his hostess pull him away. "Certainly not as interesting as you, cherie," he assured her, even though nothing could be further from the truth. He recognized Mr. Blake as being one of the two men he'd seen breaking in—then out—of a London home with Klaus only six months ago. How _fascinating_ to see him again, especially in _this_ setting. And such a refreshing young man, too. 

He listened with half an ear as the young woman prattled on. Very little of what she had to say was worth listening to, but he pretended to find it fascinating. He responded politely as he was introduced to the same batch of pretentious, but rich, fools that always showed up at these affairs. Dorian pasted on his most ingratiating smile and pretended that he was happy to see them. They did the same, although he was sure that few of _them_ were actually happy to see _him_. 

No, it wasn't the people or the admittedly excellent buffet that had drawn him to this event. It was the display that was being opened. 

Faberge eggs. Jeweled eggs created by Carl Faberge for royalty a hundred years ago. Each one an exquisitely detailed ornament of precious metals and gems, concealing a beautiful surprise inside. An older and _much_ more elegant version of the Kinder Egg, he thought to himself with a smile. Not that he would ever make the comparison out loud. Each of them was worth a fortune, assuming you could sell something so distinctive, but there was one in particular that had caught Dorian's eye. 

The egg in question had only recently been re-discovered. There had been quite a bit of controversy before it had been authenticated as being by Faberge since it had not appeared on any of the lists of his creations. The egg was made of onyx and platinum, studded with brilliant-cut diamonds and sapphires. It split into two halves length-wise to reveal the beautiful figure of a cavalry officer, mounted on his steed. The figure was so finely detailed that you could almost identify the subject, if you had the pictures to compare it to. 

And it also happened to bear a striking resemblance to a certain former Major in NATO Intelligence, now an inspector in Interpol, Klaus von dem Eberbach. Dorian smiled as he thought of his beloved Major, as he still thought of the man. He had recognized his soul-mate on the day they met, but unfortunately, the Major was determined _not_ to cooperate. Still, there'd been signs lately that his resistance was starting to show cracks. Sooner or later, his Major would give in to the inevitable, and he looked forward to that day. 

But until then, this would make a lovely addition to his collection. A momento to remind him of his beloved. 

A suitable challenge for the master thief, Eroica. 

* * *

When the reception finally wound down, late in the night—or early in the morning, depending on your point of view—Mac breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes were burning, as were his lungs. Noblemen _must_ smoke, it seemed, and they _must_ smoke cigars. His tuxedo was going to need to be cleaned before it could be worn again. It stank of cigar smoke. 

Thinking longingly of his bed, Mac escorted Herr Bernhoff back to his hotel suite. At the suite's doors, Mac started to make his good-nights. His own rooms were down the hall, elegant, but not quite as luxurious. 

"Actually, Mr. Blake," the man said in a pompous tone before Mac could make his escape. "There is one other thing. If you wouldn't mind," he said, waving Mac into the suite. 

Mac sighed. He hoped that this wasn't going to be one of those jobs where he had to fight off lecherous advances. Unfortunately, his looks and Vic's made that a not-uncommon occurrence. On the other hand, Herr Bernhoff was a little too fond of his beer and did not look capable of _forcing_ his attentions. The worst that could happen was that he would abruptly cancel the contract and refuse to pay. Then Mac would get to go home, at least. 

Inside the overly-plush suite, Mac turned to face his employer. As he did, he heard a puff. It was followed a sting. Looking down, Mac saw the fletching of a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his thigh. The pompous fool had disappeared, replaced by a hard man with the same face and figure. Mac's vision started to go black and his legs suddenly couldn't support his weight. As he crumpled to the floor, he had only one thought. 

Shit. 

* * *

The door to the bedroom opened, and two men stepped out. They lifted the young man up and carried him into the other room. Herr Bernhoff walked over to the phone and dialed a memorized number. 

"We have him." 

* * *

It was hours after the end of the reception. Dawn was just around the corner. 

Dressed completely in black, including a cap to disguise his bright hair, Dorian Red Gloria, also known as the thief Eroica, made his way through the museum. He had carefully observed the locations of the security sensors during the reception. He had acquired blueprints of the museum, so he knew the way to the reception hall as well as at least five escape routes if a security guard should arrive at the wrong moment. 

The detritus of the reception still littered the hall. The janitorial staff would be in soon to clean up the mess, which meant that he didn't have much time. Dorian grinned. He worked well under pressure. 

He ignored the majority of the cases. All he wanted was the one egg. It wasn't as though he was trying to steal the collection to sell, since there wasn't much of a market for stolen Faberge eggs. 

The lock on the display case was hopelessly archaic—so easy that it was almost an insult to his skills. It took him less than a minute to pick it. The electronic sensor inside was equally simple to deal with. He popped open the case with a sigh. Somehow, he thought that if the delightful Mr. Blake had been in charge of security it would have been a great deal more challenging to complete his little task. 

Dorian smiled at the memory of the young man. It was such a pity that he hadn't had the chance to talk to him again before the end of the evening. While he wouldn't have inspired Dorian to abandon his Major, he might have been a fun diversion. 

With a satisfied smile, Dorian stood up with the egg carefully cradled in his hands. He turned around and found that he was no longer alone in the room. 

There were three figures, all swathed in black. He couldn't even tell whether they were male or female. One of them raised a gun and pulled the trigger. 

Dorian looked down to see a tranquilizer dart embedded in his thigh. He could already feel the dizziness as the drug took effect. Very carefully, he turned back to the case and placed the egg back in its place. It would be a pity if it were damaged when he collapsed. As he crumpled to the floor, he had only one thought. 

Oh dear. 

* * *

When the blond thief was completely unconscious, two of the figures stepped forward. They grasped the limp man's arms and dragged him towards the exit. 

The third man holstered his tranquilizer gun and pulled out what looked like a cell-phone. He punched a button, then raised it to his ear. 

"Phase one is complete." 

  
**Bait**

"Phase one is complete. It's time to move on to Phase two." 

There was a feeling of satisfaction in the room. Nothing could stop them now. Nothing, except... 

"But will they cooperate?" 

The leader frowned at the lone questioner. "Not yet. That is why Phase two is so important." He was pleased to see the man cringe at his tone of voice. "Have they been sent?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Well, then. Now we wait." 

The conspirators filed out of the room, in ones and twos and threes. The leader watched the one who had spoken up, though. He would have to be disposed of. 

There was no room in their plans for any doubt or doubters. 

* * *

Klaus von dem Eberbach sat at his desk, reviewing his case files. It was only ten in the morning, and he wanted a cigarette badly. Unfortunately, Interpol's new buildings were all smoke-free zones. To have a cigarette, he would have to go outside, which he didn't have time for. Not to mention that the late-winter weather was damp and unpleasant. 

Sometimes, he thought that he should have stayed with NATO Intelligence. They didn't try to impose this ridiculous "smoking is evil" attitude on _its_ employees. 

Klaus read through the standard surveillance reports, signing off on them. A couple, he made notes on to send the agents back to school, since they had managed to loose their subjects. That was usually either due to sloppy work or insufficient training, and he decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. He snorted to himself. He was going soft in his old age. 

Then he reached for the mail in his in-box. Most of it was garbage. There were the usual invitations to conferences that he never went to, offers of courses that were supposed to make his life better. There were the memos sent through the inter-office mail by the fools who were his superiors. Why were his superiors always fools? 

And a plain envelope with no return address. His name and the office address were printed in block letters, impossible to match handwritings. Klaus frowned. Normally he would suspect a bomb, but it was obvious that the envelope only contained a single piece of paper. Poisoned, perhaps? He considered calling the forensics department and handing the envelope over to them, but his curiosity was peaked now. 

Deciding to play it safe, he put on his leather gloves and a dust mask that he kept in his desk drawer for times like this. Checking the envelope for fingerprints would be useless, since it had gone through too many people to leave the original prints intact. Klaus made a mental note to talk to the mailroom staff. Something so obvious should have been stopped and examined immediately. 

Klaus picked up his letter-opener and carefully slit the envelope open. There were no suspicious smells or stains. He slip the piece of paper out and unfolded it. 

//We have Eroica. His fate depends on you.// 

Klaus promptly wadded up the paper and tossed it in the garbage in disgust. The gloves went back in his coat pocket and the mask went in the desk. He didn't have time for this sort of nonsense. Besides, it was probably just a ploy. 

But was it? His attention kept turning back to the letter. While Eroica had tried just about everything to get—and keep—his attention, this was definitely... below him. 

Klaus dismissed it again. Even if he was in trouble, he was a big boy and could get himself out of it on his own. 

He went back to his work, and tried to concentrate on the quarterly budget report. He never should have let them promote him to a management level. Around here, that meant he was off the streets. He was going soft. 

He was going soft in the _head_. Every time he turned around, he saw a flash of golden curls, heard a husky chuckle. He thought of calling James, the Earl's accountant, and asking... 

That was ridiculous. It would just _encourage_ the man. If he was in trouble, he got there on his own and didn't need help getting out. 

Except... How many times had he saved Klaus's life? Probably as many times as he put it in danger, he reminded himself. Still, he'd always been there... Where he wasn't wanted or needed. But... 

Klaus snarled at himself. He was _definitely_ going soft. But still... he got up and retrieved the paper from the wastebasket, along with the envelope. Then he picked up the phone and called the department secretary. 

"Mathilde? Eberbach here. I'm taking a few days off. Yes, you heard me right. A... friend needs some help. Right, I'll let you know when I have a better idea of how long I'll be away. Send everything to Christophers. He'll be filling in for me." 

He hung up, still hearing the shock in her voice. Klaus von dem Eberbach taking time off? Going to help a _friend_? He even _had_ one? He could almost hear the gossip mill grinding away at that piece of information. 

He turned the envelope over in his hand, looking for something, _anything_ , to start him on his way. 

The postmark. It was from a small Polish village, near the border with the old Soviet Union. 

That was where he would start. 

* * *

Victor Mansfield was not a happy camper. Mac hadn't called him the day before, and he was supposed to. Sure, he was probably tired from the gala, but still... And there'd been no word that morning before Victor had left to go to town to do the shopping, and he was starting to get upset. 

Victor had gone to the market to buy the week's groceries, with a stop in at the post office to pick up the mail. Along the way, he greeted some of the people that had been his neighbors for the last three years. They still thought of Victor and Mac as those new kids in the area, but that was all right. Around here, anything more recent than about a hundred years was new. But a hundred kilometers, that was a long way away. It was an attitude that took some getting used to. 

Back at the cottage, Vic wheeled the push cart into the kitchen, dropped the mail and headed for the answering machine. 

Nothing. This was getting worrisome. 

Victor put away the groceries, mentally planning several meals that he was going to prepare and freeze for the times when they didn't have the time to spare to cook a meal. Then he picked up the mail and started sorting. 

He paused when he came to one of the envelopes addressed to him. More specifically, to Victor Mansfield, not Richard Thornton. It was plain white, and the name and address was printed in block letters. Victor felt his stomach clench up. He opened the envelope and pulled out the page inside. 

//'We have Mac Ramsey. His fate depends on you.// 

Victor grabbed the envelope. It was postmarked in Poland, someplace. No matter. He'd find it. He grabbed his emergency travel bag and headed for the door. 

Mac better be in one piece or there would be _Hell_ to pay. 

* * *

Klaus stepped off the train onto the tiny platform that passed for a station in the village. It was surprising that the village even rated that. There was only one real street, with lanes leading away, no doubt to the local farms. There were few buildings and fewer shops. He picked up his duffel and went looking for someone who could direct him to lodgings. 

He found someone who spoke German, and found that there were no hotels in the area. However, one of the residents rented out rooms, and had a couple free. 

The building was dilapidated and the room cold and dank, but it was better than nothing. He paid the hag for two nights, and slid his duffel under the bed. He wasn't fool enough to leave anything valuable in it, though. 

Now that he knew where he was sleeping, it was time to find out what had happened to Eroica. 

As he headed back out to the so-called 'Main Street', he saw a rickety old bus pull to a stop. Only one person got off, and Klaus wondered what could possible bring someone here. 

Then he recognized the man. Someone he hadn't seen since last summer. Victor Mansfield. 

This was getting... interesting. 

* * *

Victor got off the bus and breathed a sigh of relief. The ancient monstrosity didn't seem to have a single shock-absorber left, and he felt like half his fillings had shaken free. Still, it had gotten him here, combined with a plane trip and a train ride. He would have preferred to take the train all the way, but he'd been too late to make the connection and had decided to take the bus instead of waiting for the next day's train. Mac was depending on him. 

So here he was. Now what? 

First thing was to find someplace to stay that night. Second was to check the post office. See if he could find out who had mailed the letter. 

Victor turned, hefting his bag, and looked for someone who might understand French or English. Despite three years in Europe, he wasn't fluent in many languages. 

"What are _you_ doing here?" a voice said in English behind him. Victor jumped at the unexpected question. Spinning and landing in a defensive posture, he found himself looking at... 

"Eberbach? What the hell?" 

"I asked first, Mansfield." 

Victor straightened up. "Mac disappeared while on a bodyguard job. I got a letter postmarked from here." 

Klaus frowned (not that he ever seemed to have a different expression, Victor thought to himself). "Do you have the letter?" 

Curious to see why the man was interested, Victor pulled out the paper and handed it over. Klaus examined it in minute detail, then pulled out a similar paper to compare it to. Victor snatched the page from the man's hand. 

"We have Eroica. His fate depends on you," he read aloud. "Who is Eroica?" He watched in amazement as the other man flushed a dusky rose. 

"He's a thief. I... worked with him, while I was in NATO Intelligence." 

"An operative? Or maybe... more?" Victor asked with a grin. He didn't have time for this, but he couldn't help needling the grim German. 

"He was a nuisance! I moved to Interpol to rid myself of his nonsense," the man said in a defensive tone. 

"Riiight. That's why you drop everything to come to his rescue." Victor snickered as the other man got more and more irate. Reading between the lines was very amusing. Then something occurred to him. 

"This Eroica. Would he be the one who drew the guards away in London?" 

"Yes." Klaus didn't look happy about that, but Victor didn't care. 

"Then I owe him one. Well, now. It looks like we're here for the same reason. Someone has taken our... partners," he watched in amusement as the other man choked at the way he said the word, "and has lured us here. I'd say that it's in our best interests to work on this together." 

"Agreed," Klaus said, with obvious reluctance. 

"Good. Now, the post office is the obvious place to start. But first, I don't suppose that this place has hotel, by any chance?" 

* * *

A phone rang and was answered. 

"They've arrived." 

"Good. Commence Phase two." 

  
**Phase II**

Mac woke up gradually, in stages, his head feeling like it had been stuffed full of cotton. He didn't feel hung-over, but his memories of the night before were strangely hazy. Vic... No, Vic hadn't been there. Right, the job. Herr Bernhoff. The reception, and then... 

Shit! 

Mac sat up, and immediately regretted it, as the sudden movement made his stomach roil. 

"Ah, so you're awake. I was beginning to worry. Good morning. Or maybe that should be 'Good Evening'. It's difficult to tell." 

Mac turned, wincing at the glaring light from the bare lightbulb. The room was definitely _not_ on his list of ideal travel destinations. In fact, it looked like a dungeon. Bare stone walls, dripping with condensation, a couple of bare cots, mildewed blankets... 

And blondie. 

Mac raised a hand to his forehead, trying to come up with a coherent thought. Whatever they'd drugged him with, it was pretty damned effective. "Umm..." he said, then stopped. How _did_ you address an Earl? 

The blond smiled, obviously having a good idea of his problem. "Considering the circumstance, I think just Dorian will do nicely," he said with a gracious wave of his hand. 

In his drug-befuddled state, Mac found himself admiring the gesture. How was it that the man could look so fresh and relaxed in this setting? Unless, of course, he was here willingly, Mac thought to himself, dragging his attention back to more important matters. 

"Dorian. Why the _hell_ am I here?" Mac winced a little at his tone. 

"Good question," the other man said with a beautiful pout. "I was rather hoping that you could tell me. I have no idea why either of us is here." 

"Okay, then. How did we _get_ here?" 

"Well, you were here when I woke up. I was... taking another look at the collection," he glanced at Mac, a small smile on his lips. "After the museum closed, I have to say. Anyway, I was surprised by a group of men in black who shot me with a tranquilizer dart, then I woke up here. You?" 

Mac shook his head. "Same sort of thing. Except it was my employer, Herr Bernhoff, who shot me. Damn, I _knew_ there was something fishy when he insisted that it had to be _us_ that he hired. We don't _do_ bodyguard work anymore." 

"But he offered enough money to make it worth your while, but not enough to be too suspicious?" Mac nodded, still disgusted with himself. "And I must wonder about the authenticity of that Faberge egg. It seems a little too convenient that it would be just right to catch my attention. No, someone has been _very_ clever about capturing us. The question is why." 

Mac frowned, as he watched the handsome man musing over possible reasons. "Just what is it you do?" he finally asked. Dorian _had_ said that he was in the museum after it closed, after all. Dorian smiled brightly. 

"I'm a thief, of course," he said. "Although I've been known to do a favor or two for the authorities when a certain handsome Major is involved." Mac blinked in confusion. "Klaus, darling. He helped you break into a London townhouse last fall." 

Mac blinked. "How did you know about that? He didn't seem like he would willingly _tell_ anyone about it." 

"Who do you think led those guards away so that you could escape?" 

Mac's eyes went wide at that. He remembered the guards being distracted, just when he'd thought that they were as good as dead. But why would blondie want to help Eberbach? Then he considered the German, and the obvious flamboyance of the man co-habiting the cell with him. 

"He seems like a tough nut to crack, so to speak," he said with a sly grin. He was rewarded with another blinding smile. 

"I'm a patient man. He can't resist _forever_." 

Mac wasn't so sure about that, but he didn't say anything. The important question was why they were there. One thought was the Tangs, which had rebuilt as a crime family in the years since both the Old Man and his son, Michael, had died. He was disappointed that they hadn't gone through with Father's plans to move to legitimate enterprises only, but he didn't exactly have a say in it. But if it were the Tangs behind this, they wouldn't bother with Dorian. 

However, since they'd both been at the London townhouse when an Agency Director had died, it _might_ be related to Agency business. He didn't think that the Director—now the Head—would do this, but there were too many people within the Agency for her to control them all. That was a definite possibility. 

Of course, it could be some other player entirely. But why the two of them? After all, the only other thing they had in common was the fact that they were both... thieves? 

Before he could follow that line of thought, there was the sound of metal scraping against metal. Both Mac and Dorian looked to the door, where a slot at the bottom had opened. A tray was being pushed through. 

"Hey!" Mac called out, pounding on the door with a fist. "What's going on? What do you want?" The only answer was fading footsteps. Mac turned to Dorian, who was poking at the dishes on the tray with a disgusted look on his face. 

"It's edible," the man said. "But just barely." He patted the stone floor next to him. "Come now, Mac. We need to keep our strength up. It may not be good, but it is fuel." 

Mac sat in the indicated spot and took a look at what had been supplied. Oatmeal, gone cold, and stale bread. He gagged slightly at the thought, but dug in. No spoon, though. Did they think that he and Dorian would be able to dig their way out? Use it as a weapon? 

Actually, Mac thought, he could have. Pity. 

* * *

Klaus tossed and turned, trying to escape the familiar dream. Blue eyes gleamed and a mouth curved into a knowing smile. He snarled and moved away, but hands followed, refusing to let him escape. A warm voice spoke words that he didn't want to hear. 

Then he was awake. There was a brief moment where he was just relieved to be out of the dream, but it disappeared quickly. Something had woken him. 

There was a creak of the ancient floorboards outside his door. Klaus reached under his pillow for his gun, pulling it out slowly, not making a noise, and pointed it towards the door that was starting to creak open. 

But before he could react, there was a 'phhht', and he felt a sting. Looking down he saw was a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his arm. 

As the world went dark, he grimaced in disgust at how easily he'd been taken. Hopefully Mansfield wouldn't be as easy to capture. 

* * *

Victor groaned, trying to shake off the effects of the drug. 

He and Klaus had spent the day questioning the locals, trying to figure out who had sent them the letters without getting anywhere. They'd finally gone back to the boarding house and their separate rooms, but Victor had found sleep elusive. He'd tossed and turned, then had finally gotten up and dressed, planning to go for a walk to get some fresh air. 

Just as he'd reached the door, he'd heard another door open and the sound of a silenced gun. Freezing, he'd listened to the sounds of a body being dragged away. Then the footsteps had moved towards his own door. 

Victor had flattened himself to the wall, a hand going to his gun. The door had opened and gun had poked through the narrow gap. He'd promptly kicked it from its owner's grasp. Unfortunately, the man hadn't been alone, and the fight was on. Victor was an excellent martial artist, but the hallway was narrow and there had been no way for him to safely use his gun. 

Still, one man had gone down with a dislocated shoulder and another with a damaged kneecap before the original attacker managed to recover his gun and shoot Victor. 

Within seconds, Victor had been reeling from the drug. It had been a tranquilizer gun. A blow from one of the other men had knocked him off his feet. As a boot descended, he had cursed himself for walking into such an obvious trap. 

But now he was awake again and raging. He shifted his weight, only to be drawn up short by the sound of metal against metal. Shaking his head to clear it, he realized that he was chained up. 

In fact, he was chained to the wall in what looked like one of those bad rip-offs of a medieval dungeon—the type that Hollywood used for movies. Whips on the walls, an Iron Maiden in the corner, a fire with several pokers sticking out of the coals glowing a cheery red... 

And the ultimate of cliches, a rack, stood in the center of the room, with Klaus stretched out on it. 

Victor cleared his throat and saw Klaus turn his head towards him, as best he could. "So, any idea where we are?" 

"No," was the blunt, almost snarled, reply. "And I doubt we'll find out until our captors are ready to tell us _why_ we are here." 

Victor sighed. Obviously the German was not in the mood for conversation. Victor shifted his weight, trying to find a comfortable position and settled himself to wait as patiently as possible, but his face throbbed, his head ached and he was still worried about Mac. 

* * *

Dorian woke, slightly disoriented. There was no way to tell what time it was, or how long they'd been locked in the tiny room. They'd been fed four times, but that didn't give a very good estimate of time. 

He shifted slightly and Mac murmured a sleepy protest from his position, curled up against Dorian's side. Unsurprising, considering the time of year, the room wasn't just damp, it was bitterly cold, and the ancient blankets that they'd been supplied with were worse than useless for keeping them warm. Instead, they'd huddled together, trying to share their meager body warmth. 

Dorian smiled down at the young man. They'd talked for hours, just to pass the time. The boy had certainly led an interesting, if not always pleasant, life. In some ways, Dorian found himself jealous. Mac had found his true love and _hadn't_ been soundly rejected. Instead, he and Victor seemed to have built a life together that was almost idyllic. Dorian sometimes wondered if he would ever have that with Klaus. 

Voices in the distance brought him abruptly out of his musings. That must have been what woke him up. Dorian listened carefully. 

There were several voices, although he couldn't tell what they were saying, and they were getting closer. Dorian gave Mac a small shake. 

"Nnn.. Five more minutes, Vic..." was the sleepy reply. 

"Darling, I think we're about to get those answers we've been waiting for," Dorian said with a fond smile. The boy really was adorable. 

"Wha?" Mac was wide awake almost immediately. Dorian stood, and easily pulled his cellmate to his feet. They both straightened their clothes, almost instinctively making sure that they looked their best. They both stopped at the same moment and looked at each other before snickering at how ridiculous they must look. 

Then they moved into position next to the door, waiting for it to open. 

Dorian resisted the urge to hold his breath, forcing himself instead to take deep, even breaths. There was a scraping noise as a key was inserted in the door lock and turned. Mac settled into a ready pose that demonstrated his martial arts knowledge as the door opened. 

He didn't have a chance. The first man through the door was shaped like a gorilla, six and a half feet tall, and massively built. Mac just bounced off of him and was tossed against the wall. The man behind the gorilla stepped into the cell, holding a very efficient looking gun. 

"Don't," was all he said. He waved them towards the door. 

Dorian pulled Mac to his feet, the young man still looking dazed from his impact. "I suggest we go along with them," he whispered to Mac. 

"Yeah," Mac gasped. "I can do that." 

They followed the gorilla down the hallway, the gunman walking behind them, no doubt ready to shoot at the slightest sign of resistance. There were no signs of life from any of the cells that they passed. Around the corner, a doorway spilled light though. They were encouraged towards it. 

Dorian tensed, as he realized that this was obviously the torture chamber for the dungeons. He resisted the urge to groan when he saw Klaus strapped to the rack in the center of the room. 

"Vic!" Dorian just barely managed to stop the young man from doing something foolish. At the far side of the room, Victor Mansfield was chained against the wall. A large purple bruise spread across one side of his face and the slightly glazed look in his eyes did not bode well. The man Mac called Herr Bernhoff was at his side, a gun pointed at Victor's head. 

"Very wise, Herr Eroica," the man said. "Do restrain your young friend or things could get... messy." 

"Who are you?" Dorian asked, his eyes drawn back to Klaus's impassive face. "What do you want?" 

"Who I am is unimportant. But what I want... well, unless you want these two men to learn first-hand how all this equipment works, what I want is _very_ important. It is also quite simple. I want the two of you to steal something for me. Do as I tell you and the four of you will live. Refuse... I'm sure that two intelligent men like yourselves can figure that out on your own." 

Dorian looked into Mac's anguished face and shrugged. They didn't exactly have much of choice. 

"What is it you want stolen?" 

  
**Caper**

"They've arrived in Moscow." 

"Good." 

The leader looked around the room, full of satisfaction. Everything was proceeding exactly as had been planned. They had considered every contingency. Years of planning were finally coming to fruition. 

"Are we ready to eliminate them as soon as they succeed?" 

"Yes sir. As soon as they bring it to us, they will be disposed of. What of the other two? Should we deal with them now?" 

"No. We may need them if their friends are obstinate. As soon as the task is completed, they will all be eliminated. Go get ready." 

One by one, the others left the room, each bowing respectfully as they passed. Men and women, each chosen for their skills and their loyalty to the cause. 

Bu there was only one missing. The one who had expressed doubts in a previous meeting. He had been dealt with. 

There was no room in the plan for doubters. 

* * *

Mac held his breath as he disabled the last of the security sensors. A tweak here, an adjustment there, and... 

Voila! 

Mac sat back, smiling in satisfaction at a job well done. Then he looked over at his partner and the feeling disappeared, like a soap bubble going >pop<.>"Very nice, darling," Dorian said, lightly clapping his hands. 

Mac nodded, and waved for the blond man to lead the way into the room. He wanted Vic, now more than ever. If Vic had been there he would have rewarded Mac with a long kiss (with lots of tongue), and the promise of more later. While Dorian might be willing to do the same, he wasn't the one Mac wanted. 

But Vic wasn't there. Vic was chained to the wall of a medieval dungeon just inside the Russian border. He and Klaus, the stiff German that Dorian was so hung up on, had been lured into a trap by the jerks who had grabbed him and Dorian. Once inside the trap, they became the threat that had brought the two thieves to Moscow. 

Either they stole what their blackmailers wanted or Vic and Klaus would be killed, slowly and painfully. 

Needless to say, they didn't have much choice. 

So here they were, breaking into a heavily protected building to steal... This was ridiculous. And how the hell were they supposed to get it out? 

Mac shook his head. It still didn't make any sense. 

Why the hell would anyone want Lenin's body anyway? 

* * *

The leader watched the phone, willing it to ring. Their team had watched the two thieves break into Lenin's tomb, but they hadn't been seen leaving. While the press had been told nothing, his people had confirmed that the police were hunting for the body and that a replica had been placed on display. 

So where were Mac Ramsey and Eroica? 

The phone rang. Snatching it up, he barked "Have you found them?" 

"Found who?" 

The leader resisted the urge to snarl, recognizing the insolent voice of Ramsey. 

"Where are you? You did not do what you were ordered." 

"There was a change of plans." He could almost see the smirk on the man's face. "We found another way out. We have what you wanted. Time for you to come through on your end of the bargain." 

"Meaning?" 

"We have stinky, here. You have Vic and Klaus. We're in a farmhouse, just outside of Minsk. I'll give you more detailed directions in a moment. You bring our partners and we'll do a trade. Then, when we all have what we want, we'll go our separate ways, never to meet again. Agreed?" 

"Agreed," the leader said, reaching for a pen. He wrote down the directions, then hung up the phone, a cold smile curling his lips. 

They were fools. There would be no exchange. His people would kill the two thieves and take the body. Once it was in their possession there would be no reason to keep the other two alive. He would enjoy killing them personally. It would make up for the aggravation that their partners had caused. 

* * *

The men surrounded the farmhouse, their orders clear: Take the body and leave two in its place. The farmhouse sparkled before them in the light of the nearly full moon above. It might have been a problem if the farmhouse lights weren't all on, but the yellow glow streaming through the windows would make it difficult for anyone inside to see out. 

The two men inside would be no threat. Even if they had taken advantage of their time out of the surveillance to obtain weapons they were still only two men against a squad of highly trained warriors. 

The signal was given, and the men went in, coming through every entrance. Guns were ready. 

The only problem was... No one was there. 

The building was searched, from top to bottom. They found Lenin's body tucked upright inside a broom closet. Of the two thieves, there was no sign. 

The squad leader snarled his frustration. He pulled out the cell phone to call his boss to report, but before he could, floodlights lit the outside of the building. 

"Come out with your hands up!" called a voice in Russian. A glance out the window showed dozens of armed men, all in uniform. The squad leader turned to his men. 

"The mission must succeed." 

His men all nodded. They knew what to do. 

Gunfire filled the night. 

* * *

Outside the castle, Mac and Dorian had found a back entrance with only one guard and no electronic surveillance. One guard would not be much trouble. 

Mac came up along the side of the building and struck a blow to the back of the man's head with the side of his hand which left the guard unconscious, oblivious to the two figures in black who slipped past him into the ancient building. 

Locating the castle hadn't been easy, taking several days. Once they'd reached the stone heap, they'd called the number that Bernhoff had given them to tell them where he could find Lenin's body. They knew that he had no intention of letting them or their partners go, so they planned to be in and out before he found out that they weren't with the body. 

Mac was a little surprised, though. The voice on the other end _hadn't_ been Bernhoff. If he wasn't in charge, then who was? And just what was this group up to? 

An anonymous tip to the appropriate authorities, telling them where they could find the stolen body and the gang of thieves, would hopefully provide enough of a delay so that they could get away. 

Once inside, common sense drew them down to the lowest levels of the building; where else would the dungeons be? Once there, memory led to the torture chamber. It was empty. Mac cursed under her breath. They started down the rows of cells until they found one that was occupied. Mac had the ancient lock open in seconds. 

"Vic!" he hissed quietly. One of the sleeping figures sat up, wide eyed. In a moment, the man was on his feet, across the room and holding Mac. Mac laughed, and rained small kisses all over the older man's face, momentarily forgetting where they were. 

"If you two can drag yourselves apart, I suggest you save it until we actually get out of here," came the sarcastic comment from behind them. 

"Hush, Major. I think they're sweet. Unfortunately, children, he's right. We'd better be going." 

Reluctantly, Mac pulled away. "Later," he promised, brushing the back of his hand against Vic's cheek, feeling the several day's worth of beard growth there. When they were out of here, he was going to pamper his lover shamelessly. 

Vic gave him a small smile, and accepted the gun held out to him. Klaus was already armed. Then they headed for the stairs, wondering how long until their luck would run out. 

* * *

The leader hung up the phone very, very carefully. 

Then he ripped the cord from the wall and threw the phone across the room, shouting with rage. 

How could things have been so badly botched? Only three of the men sent to the farmhouse had survived, escaping with the body while their compatriots held off the Russian soldiers. The body was on its way to the center, but the price had been high. Every loyal member would be needed when the time came, and the loss infuriated him. 

But they had the body. Eberbach and Mansfield were no longer necessary. 

The leader pulled a pistol from his desk drawer, then headed for the stairs. 

He was going to take _great_ pleasure in killing them. 

* * *

Klaus took the rear as Dorian led the way back to whatever exit that he and Ramsey had used to get into the castle. His eyes constantly scanned the hallway, looking for someone—anyone—to hurt. 

Klaus _really_ wanted to hurt someone. He'd been made a fool of, and there was nothing he liked less than looking the fool. He was going to find out who was behind this whole business, and he was going to make them pay. 

They were almost to the exit, came the whispered report from Dorian. A little further and they would be out and on their way to a hidden vehicle. He would be on his way back to Berlin and his office. Mansfield and Ramsey would go back to France, and hopefully Dorian would go back to wherever he was making home at the moment. London, probably. 

But before they could reach the exit, the alarms started to blare. 

What the hell was this old heap doing with that sort of alarm system, Klaus wondered to himself. Then he shut off that line of thought, and checked his gun again to make sure that it was ready and in working order. 

Amazing how Dorian had managed to find his preferred type of firearm. But that was the way that the blond thief worked. 

They were at the door, and already Klaus could hear the sounds of boots coming down the hallway behind them. He watched their rear, while Ramsey and Mansfield took the lead. Klaus and Dorian followed them out. 

They had almost reached the small car when gunshots rang out. Klaus returned fire, welcoming the chance to take a little revenge. 

In his mind, the first man he hit was Bernhoff, the pompous little asshole. The next was the guard who had kicked him in the ribs when he and Mansfield had tried to escape, three days earlier. The next was whoever cooked the wretched gruel that had been their only food during their stay. 

"Klaus! It's time to go!" 

Klaus blinked, suddenly realizing that no one was shooting at them anymore. He pulled his trigger one last time, and was answered with the click of an empty clip. 

Klaus tucked the gun into the back of his pants, hissing a little as the heated metal pressed against him, even with the fabric of his shirt as a buffer. He spared one last look at the building that had held him for nearly a week. 

Then he turned and followed the others to the waiting vehicle 

* * *

"I want them _dead_!" 

The leader was beyond angry, beyond enraged. The four men had escaped and he wanted revenge. He picked up the phone and started giving orders to hunt down and destroy the escapees. His chief aide waved at him, trying to get his attention. 

"What?!" 

"Sir, there is no room in the plan for these actions. Not yet. We have the body, and should proceed according to the schedule. There will be time to deal with them later, if they interfere." 

Grudgingly, he lowered the phone. The young man was right, and that galled him. This was not the time to allow themselves to be distracted. Once there was no chance of the plan being disrupted, though... 

"This isn't over," he muttered to himself. "Not over at all." 

A new world order was coming, and there would be a price to pay in it for the four men who'd defied him. 

  
**Comfort and Confusion**

Klaus sighed, looking around the private train carriage. Trust Dorian to do an escape in style. He'd expected a cold, wet chase across the country- side, only to be led straight to the train tracks. There, a private car hooked up to a mini-engine waited. Once they reached a larger town Dorian had dropped off Ramsey and Mansfield, then hooked up the car to one of the regular trains headed for Germany—something that wasn't cheap. 

Klaus had protested that it would be too easy to track them, but Dorian had countered that it was too public to attack them. Besides, he'd had the car stocked with well-hidden weapons before it was delivered by Bonham. 

He could have left with the other two and made his own way back to Germany, but since Dorian's passenger car was headed that way, he might as well take advantage of it. 

At least that's what he kept telling himself. Now, finally clean, dry and warm, tucked into a bed, he couldn't hide the truth. 

He didn't want to be alone. After nearly a week of being locked in a cell, beaten up and threatened with all sort of horrific tortures, knowing that he was dead as soon as Dorian and Ramsey came through on what they'd been sent to do, he didn't want to be alone. 

Not that he was _ever_ going to admit that to Dorian. 

* * *

Dorian put down the hairdryer, sighing in pleasure at finally having clean hair again. One of the benefits of a private train carriage was that it had a fully equipped bathroom, complete with a tub large enough for him to properly stretch out it. Considering his height, it was to be a custom job, like the car. 

A filling dinner, a hot bath, clean clothes. Who could want more? 

Well, he did want more, but despite his confident words to Mac, he wasn't so sure that he was ever likely to get what he really wanted. He gave his reflection a wry grin. Why did he have to go and fall head over heels in love—not to mention lust—with an uptight German full of Catholic guilt? 

Dorian shook his head. What made it worse was the fact that Klaus was so _obviously_ gay. He was repressed to the point of blindness, but anyone with a brain could see it. He almost never showed interest in a woman, he surrounded himself exclusively with male operatives. And despite his refusal to admit it, Dorian saw the appreciation in the man's eyes when they turned his way. 

Dorian pulled his sapphire-blue silk robe on, belting it loosely around his waist. A good night's sleep, and when they woke they would be in Berlin. Then he and Klaus would go their separate ways yet again. 

Dorian headed down the hallway to his bedroom, but paused outside of Klaus's door. It was probably not a good idea, but he couldn't resist sliding the door open, just enough to look at the man. 

Klaus was lying flat on his back, arms straight at his sides on top of the covers, looking for all the world like a marble effigy on top of a medieval tomb. Even in his sleep, he was completely expressionless. 

Dorian sometimes wondered about Klaus's past. It was his experience that this much repression of emotions comes from trauma in a person's past, usually in childhood. If he were to guess, he'd say that Klaus's parents were cold and demanding, never praising their son. Klaus would be spending his life trying to live up to standards forever out of his reach. Dorian sniffed a little, imagining Klaus as a child. He would have been so adorable, only needing a little love and affection. Dorian wished that he could have been there to provide it for him. 

Dorian was so caught up in his musings that he almost missed the start of the nightmare. Even then, Klaus didn't make a sound. The only signs that showed were the deepening line on his brow and the hands tightening into fists. Other than that, he didn't move, didn't make a sound. 

Concerned, Dorian stepped into the room, swaying with the motion of the train. Hesitant, he sat down on the edge of the bed next to Klaus. 

"Major?" he said softly, laying a gentle hand on the other man's arm. 

That was a mistake. In a burst of motion, Klaus erupted from the bed, fists flying. He was making guttural noises, more like an animal than a human. 

Caught off-guard, Dorian's head swum as several blows hit him solidly, one to the jaw and several to his torso. With a cry, he fell backwards onto the floor, Klaus landing on top of him, hands around his throat. His eyes were blank, still caught in whatever nightmare he'd been having. 

"Major!" Dorian's cry was blocked by hands tightening around his neck. He was going to need a scarf tomorrow to cover the bruises. 

Assuming, of course, that he survived the next few minutes. 

But the one word was enough. He could see awareness returning to the other man's eyes. The hands loosened, then dropped away. Klaus sat back on his heels, still straddling Dorian's body, and Dorian pushed himself up following him. Klaus refused to meet his eyes. 

"Are you all right, Klaus?" Dorian frowned in worry. 

The comment brought Klaus around to face him. He raised a hand to touch the side of Dorian's face. Dorian could already feel the bruise there as well. A scarf _and_ makeup. 

"I'm the one who should be saying that," was the quiet reply. Dorian's jaw almost hit his chest. Klaus had not been afraid to hit him over the years—although that impulse had gradually disappeared—but he had trouble remembering the last time that the man had apologized for it, let alone sounded so contrite. 

Klaus stood up and actually reached a hand to help Dorian to his feet. 

"It's all right," Dorian said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "You should go back to bed." 

Strangely docile now, Klaus moved back to the bed and climbed under the covers. A little more cautious than before, Dorian sat down next to him on the edge of the bed. "Better?" he asked, and was answered with a small nod. 

Klaus went still and closed his eyes, obviously wanting to give the impression of being asleep again. Dorian waited a moment, but there was no further movement or sound from Klaus. After a few minutes, the man's breathing had evened out until Dorian knew he was asleep for real. 

Dorian knew he should leave for his own bed, but he smiled. It was a foolish thing to do, but he couldn't resist. 

He bent his head and kissed Klaus. 

The mouth under his was soft with sleep and opened up to the probe of tongue. Dorian deepened the kiss a little more, then pulled back regretfully. 

Klaus's eyes were open and glittering in the dim light from the doorway. Dorian froze, wondering if he was about to acquire a few more bruises that night. Klaus didn't move. 

Dorian bit his lip, then decided that he might as well go for it all while Klaus was in such an unusually passive mood. He brushed a hand through the straight, dark hair, then bent his head again. 

There was no resistance to the kiss, but no participation either. Dorian ran his tongue over Klaus's lips, but this time they remained shut. They tasted of beer. He'd made sure that he had a supply of Klaus's favorite on board, and the man had obviously taken advantage of it. 

There was a sound that he couldn't identify. It was part whimper, part groan and part something he couldn't put a name to. And suddenly, without warning, the lips parted. 

Moaning deep in his throat, Dorian plunged in, memorizing every taste, every texture. If he never had the chance to repeat this, he wanted to remember every detail. 

Dorian slid down to lie stretched out next to Klaus on the bed. He continued the kiss, begrudging those moments when he had to pull away to allow them bother to breathe before sealing their lips together again. Meanwhile, his hands kept moving. First they ran through the thick hair, moving occasionally to caress the sides of the strong jaw. Then, when no move was made to stop him, he moved his hands further down. 

He used light touches, trying not to spook Klaus. Button by button, he undid the buttons of the silk pajama top, then pulled it open to reveal the skin beneath. Finally breaking the kiss, Dorian gently pressed his lips to the base of Klaus's neck, then to the midpoint between dark nipples. Inch by inch, he worked his way down until his lips hovered at the drawstring of the pajama bottoms. 

Dorian risked a glance up. Klaus was staring at the ceiling, his lips swollen and reddened. Dorian considered stopping, but Klaus finally looked at him and the expression on his face nearly broke Dorian's heart. 

With fumbling fingers, he undid the drawstring and pulled the bottoms down, aided by a slight lift of the hips, the first sign of cooperation that Klaus had made. 

Klaus was half-hard, just enough to lift his cock up from his belly. Dorian sighed at the sight, then gently kissed the underside. The erection twitched, and grew a little more. Dorian bent his head and did what he'd wanted to do for so long. 

Every trick from a lifetime of practice was put into use. Dorian had known what he was at an early age, and hadn't been afraid to indulge his curiosity in all things to do with sex. Some experiences had been less pleasant than others, but that was part of life. He was glad for the experiences, since they allowed him to make this as good as possible for Klaus. 

Kisses, licks and touches coaxed the other man to full erection. He was making sounds now, moans and whimpers of what couldn't be mistaken for as anything but pleasure. When he knew that Klaus couldn't last much longer, Dorian opened his mouth and slid down on Klaus, flexing his throat muscles as he reached bottom. 

Fingers gripped his head and Klaus's hip thrust up in short bursts as he came. Dorian drank down, unable to taste Klaus, he was so deeply embedded. Then the hands fell away, and he pulled back in time for the last drops to land on his tongue. He closed his eyes for a moment and memorized the flavor. 

Aroused to the point of pain, Dorian moved back up to lie next to Klaus. Not saying a word, he reached over to brush his fingers over Klaus's cheek. They came away wet. Dorian wasn't surprised. Klaus's walls were too thick to be breached so easily. 

"Shhh..." he said softly. "Sleep. Everything will be all right." 

Silent once more, Klaus shut his eyes. Dorian watched him for a while longer, until he was sure that the man was asleep. Then he rose from the bed, careful not to disturb Klaus this time. He would take care of himself once he got to his own bed. 

And then he would give Klaus the space he needed to come to terms with what had happened this night. He'd been patient for this long, he could wait even longer if need be. 

At least now he had a memory to fuel his dreams. 

* * *

Mac was being stalked. 

It had been a long trip home, and all he wanted to do was have a hot shower then sleep for a week. However, Vic obviously had other plans. No sooner had he disarmed the security system, then locked the door behind them, Vic had him up against the wall, kissing him senseless. 

Long minutes later, Vic pulled away. He brushed the knuckles of one hand against Mac's cheek, which was still colored by a large purple bruise. 

"You're sure you're all right?" he asked again, for the umpteenth time since they'd left the castle. 

"I'm tired, I stink and my clothes can probably stand up on their own," Mac said in fond exasperation. "But other than that, I'm _fine_. After all, I'm not the one who spent a week in a damp dungeon." 

Mac ducked under one of the arms that bracketed him and headed for the bathroom, shedding clothes as he went. He didn't bother looking to see if Vic was following him. He turned on the shower and was relieved to find that there was hot water. 

Stepping under the spray, he breathed a sigh of relief. He could feel the tension draining away, along with the crust of grime that had seemed permanently embedded into his skin pores. 

There was a sound behind him, and he smiled as strong arms wrapped around his waist and warm lips brushed the back of his neck. 

"Gonna wash my back?" he asked, grinning. 

"And everything else," was the husky reply. 

The hands rubbing his chest disappeared for a moment, then came back covered in body soap. Vic gently scrubbed Mac, inch by inch. Mac groaned in pleasure, feeling an arousal he thought he was too tired for build. He leaned back against the tile wall, just enjoying being home, being with Vic. When Vic urged him to turn around, he went willingly and spread his legs. 

He was so relaxed that only the sketchiest of preparations were needed before Vic was pressing his way in. Mac threw his head back and moaned. A soapy hand was stroking him, carrying him even higher. 

The build-up was leisurely, and climax was sweet beyond description. 

When the water started to run cold, they tumbled out of the shower, dried off and collapsed into bed, both of them exhausted. 

"Vic?" 

"Hmmm?" 

"They know where we live." 

Vic sighed, and rolled onto his back. Mac followed him, draping himself over the older man like a blanket. 

"Yeah, but what can we do? Move? They'd be able to find us again. Change identities and start over? There's no guarantee that they wouldn't still be able to find us. 

"Besides." Vic's tone hardened. "I like our life, and I'm not willing to let them take it away from us. If they come after us again, we'll... deal with it." 

Mac shivered. If the enemy was smart, they wouldn't test Vic's resolve. They wouldn't like the result. 

And if it came to that, he'd be right next to his partner, equally ready to protect Vic and their life together. Vic was right. This was a time when running was _not_ an option. 

Mac burrowed deeper under the pile of quilts, listening to Vic's breathing deepen into sleep. As he followed, just one question echoed in his mind. 

Why _had_ the wanted Lenin's body? 

* * *

When he woke the next morning, Klaus was relieved to find himself alone in the bed. It wouldn't have been the first time that he'd woken with Dorian wrapped around him, but it was the first time that they'd actually done... something the night before. 

Klaus closed his eyes and fought the urge to curse himself. How could he have let the thief... do _that_ to him, he asked himself, unwilling to give the act a name. For years he'd successfully managed to evade Dorian's flirtations, innuendoes and gropes, but in a moment of weakness, he'd let him... 

Klaus cursed his traitorous cock as it hardened at the memory. It had felt... good. But it was _wrong_! 

Resisting the urge to hide in the compartment (he was no coward, he told himself), Klaus got up and started to dress in the clothes left out for him. The last thing he wanted was for Dorian to come along and open the door before he was decently covered. 

For that matter, where was Dorian? The train was no longer moving so they had obviously reached Berlin. Why hadn't Dorian woken him to let him know? 

Suit and tie, starched shirt and trenchcoat had all been donned like armor, and Klaus was finally ready to face the world. He opened the sleep compartment's door and headed down the hallway to the sitting room. 

In the lush room, he was surprised by what he found. Instead of long blond curls, the man waiting for him had short hair and a mustache. 

"Bonham?" 

The man looked up from the book he was reading. "Ah! Morning, Major." 

Klaus frowned at him. "Where is Dorian?" 

"Well," Dorian's operations manager said, glancing at his watch. "He should be half-way to London by now." He quirked an eyebrow, and Klaus realized that he wasn't being very successful in hiding his confusion. 

"He said you probably wouldn't want to see him for a while. So, if you're leaving, I can return the carriage to storage." 

Within minutes, Klaus found himself on the platform, moving through the crowd to make his way home, even more confused than when he woke. He was surprised that Dorian hadn't stayed to press his advantage, and even though he would never admit it, he was grateful. 

Life had become very complicated and he needed time to adjust to it. 

Or better yet, forget that it had ever happened. 

  
**Interlude**

Klaus closed the current file on a blackmail ring operating across Europe and sighed. He hated these sorts of cases. He much preferred something with a little more... action. A little less sleaze. 

The sort of thing that happened when Dorian, or his alter-ego Eroica, was around. He'd left NATO Intelligence to escape that, and now he wanted it. The irony was not lost on him. But no. No excitement. No intrigue. 

No Dorian. He hadn't seen the man in nearly three months. Not since... 

He squashed that thought quickly. He wasn't going to think about it. If he didn't think about it, then it didn't happen. 

Now if he could just convince his subconscious of that, and kill off those damned dreams... 

Klaus resisted the urge to throw the file folder across the room. Unfortunately, the last few months had been very quiet for him, leaving him with too _much_ time to think. And remember. And relive, every time he closed his eyes. 

However, it had also given him time to find out just who had arranged that little stay in a dungeon with Victor Mansfield, while Dorian and Mac Ramsey had been forced to go off and steal the body of Lenin, of all things. He didn't have much to go on. Just the name of the man who'd set Ramsey up and the location of the castle where he and Victor had been held. With that little information it had taken him a while to find any information of use. 

New World. 

It was the name of an international organization of scientists. Bernhoff was one of the financial supporters of the group and the castle belonged to another. He'd only been able to link nine names to the organization, and he hadn't been able to find out anything about what the group _did_ or what their agenda was. 

He'd tried to convince his superiors to let him pursue the case, but they'd firmly refused. Even when all the members he'd been able to trace suddenly disappeared, they'd refused. There are too many other _important_ cases needing investigation, Eberbach, they'd said. Don't waste your time on hunches. Do what you are paid for. 

Sometimes he wondered about his superiors. 

In the meantime though, the only excitement in his life had been two packages from Mansfield and Ramsey. They had abandoned the anonymous package route for their pilfered evidence, instead sending the packages directly to him. Both packages had led to arrests, making him look good in the eyes of the higher-up, balancing his refusal to give up his investigation into New World. 

He had to admit a grudging respect for the two men, although not out loud. One of the packages had included the files of a Mafia don that Interpol had been after for years. But the man was highly paranoid and very security conscious. Getting into his safe was something that he would consider impossible, even for Eroica. 

But these two had done it. Now the man was behind bars and likely to stay there for a _very_ long time. And the battle between those who would take his place was going to keep his organization very _un_ organized for a while. 

Not bad. For a pair of thieves, that is. 

Now if he just knew what Dorian was up to, he'd be able to relax. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone this long without the blond thief sticking his elegant nose into Klaus's business. 

Klaus groaned and smacked his forehead. Why couldn't he go even half an hour without thinking of the man? If anything, he'd suspect Dorian of staying away just so that Klaus _would_ spend all his time wondering about what the man was up to. 

A glance at the clock showed that it was just after five o'clock. Deciding that he wasn't going to get anything more done that day, Klaus grabbed his coat and headed for the door. 

The warm damp air outside announced that spring had finally arrived, and Klaus took a grateful breath before lighting the cigarette that he'd been desperate for during the last few hours. He took a few deep drags, then headed for the subway entrance. 

All the way home, the question of Dorian nagged at him. Every night, as he closed his eyes, he relived every detail of the last time he'd seen Dorian, lips wrapped around... 

Klaus shuddered. It was like an electric shock moving through his body, the memory of what Dorian had done to him. Every night, he dreamt it over and over again, waking up covered in the embarrassing results. If Dorian would just show up again, maybe he could bury the memories. Replace them with something more recent and definitely non-sexual. A proper Catholic should not be having these dreams. 

These thoughts. 

Klaus was so busy fighting with his conscience that he almost missed his stop. At the last moment, he managed to squeeze off the subway and head for his apartment. 

His apartment was on the fourth floor of a old building, one of the few in the area that survived the bombings of Germany during World War II. It was small, but that suited him just fine. The bedroom held his bed and armoire, with just enough room left over for a bedside table. The bathroom was cramped, with just a shower, toilet and sink, but was kept spotless. The living room had been turned into more of an office than a space to entertain, since Klaus never entertained. The kitchen had a small table for eating, and the microwave saw more use in a week than the stove saw in a year. Klaus was _not_ a cook. 

Klaus entered the apartment and locked the door behind him, then stopped. There was someone moving around in his apartment. He reached under his trenchcoat to retrieve his gun. His nose wrinkled. And what was that smell? It smelled like... 

A blond head poked out from the kitchen and smiled. "Ah, Major! Perfect timing. Go wash up. Dinner will be ready in five minutes." 

Klaus holstered his gun, kicking himself. Be careful for what you wish for, they say. 

You just might get it. 

* * *

Dinner was gourmet and excellent and frustrating as hell. The frustration was because Dorian refused to discuss anything but trivialities during the meal. Every time Klaus tried to steer the conversation to what Dorian was up to, the thief promptly changed the subject. 

After dinner, Dorian washed dishes while Klaus dried. He resisted the urge to think how cozy the arrangement was, how domestic. He was only doing it because it would not be proper to let Dorian do all the work. At least that was what he told himself. 

The gesture earned him another bright smile. 

Finally, when all the dishes were put away they moved out to the living room, Dorian taking a bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses from the counter. He popped the cork expertly and poured two glasses, handing one to Klaus and taking the other for himself. 

Klaus promptly put the glass down, untasted. "What are you up to?" he demanded. "Where have you been?" 

"Why? Did you miss me?" Dorian asked with a smile, sipping at the white wine. "I've been making James a very happy boy. He's been after me for a while to take care of the paperwork, so I did." 

"For three _months_!?" Klaus took a deep breath, trying to control himself. He was not going to yell. He was not going to lose his cool. 

Right. 

"Besides," Dorian said, ignoring the outburst. "I thought you might like some time to yourself. To think." 

"About what?" 

Even to his own ears, he sounded defensive—something that wasn't lost on Dorian. The blond set down his own wineglass and stepping forward into Klaus's personal space. He brushed the fingers of one hand over Klaus's cheek. 

Klaus immediately backed away from the other man, trying to hide the shivers running through him. He wasn't ready yet. He wasn't ready. He would _never_ be ready. 

He pulled out his cigarette case, but before he could pull out one of the familiar, comforting white cylinders, Dorian had pulled it out of his grasp and tossed it onto the desk. Cupping Klaus's face in strong hands, he leaned in and kissed him. 

Klaus's eyes fell shut as he found himself helpless to do anything except respond. So good, he thought to himself. So good... 

So _wrong_! 

He pulled away and stepped back, bumping into the desk. "This is wrong," he said weakly. Dorian followed him, leaning forward, resting his hands on the desk to either side of Klaus's hips. 

"Says who?" 

"The church! Besides, I'm not gay. I'm not attracted to men." 

Dorian smiled, and brushed his lips against Klaus's cheek. Klaus fought the urge to turn so that their lips would meet. The kiss had been even better than he remembered. 

"Are you so sure, Major? When was the last time you were with a woman on a date, let alone more?" 

Klaus opened his mouth, then shut it again. He was not about to admit the truth. Not to Dorian. "It's still wrong," he protested. "God did not intend for men to do this." 

Dorian pulled back with a frown. "Klaus, who made me this way? God did. Do you really believe that God would be so petty as to make me to love a man, then refuse to allow me to? Love is a precious thing, something rare and wonderful. I don't think that He would create me and the one I love as the same sex if that was not the way he meant for it to be." 

He moved closer again. Klaus was already reeling, both from the kiss and the argument. Dorian continued. 

"Those rules were made by _men_. Men who did not think sex should be enjoyed. That it was just a chore endured to create children. God made us to enjoy sex. He made us to love. The God I believe in would not consider _any_ love to be wrong." 

Suddenly, Dorian moved several steps back, leaving Klaus free. "I've never said this in so many words, but I will now. Klaus von dem Eberbach, I love you. I want you to be happy. I want to be the one who _makes_ you happy. If my absence is what it would take, then so be it. I will leave and never bother you again. Do you want me to go?" 

Klaus looked into Dorian's eyes, and saw determination there. He truly meant it. All Klaus had to do was say the word, and he would never have to deal with Dorian again. Never be plagued by his attention-seeking schemes. Never have to fend off the man's attentions. It was the chance he'd been dreaming of ever since he'd first met the man. 

"No." 

Klaus felt his jaw drop, watching Dorian's face light up. That _wasn't_ what he'd meant to say. He was _sure_ that wasn't what he meant to say. 

Wasn't it? 

But Dorian was in his arms again, kissing him breathless, and he was responding. Dorian was right about one thing. He'd rarely bothered with women, and when he had it had never felt this good. 

This right. 

This wrong. 

This right. 

The conflict rushed through him, making him tense. Dorian pulled away just slightly. "Shh," he said, brushing a smooth cheek against Klaus's face. "Let's go to bed." 

Klaus wasn't sure what expression was on his face, but it was probably sheer terror. Dorian smiled gently. 

"Just to sleep, love. I've waited this long, I can wait for you to become comfortable with this. All I want is the chance to sleep next to you, close enough to touch. Will you let me?" 

Klaus gulped, his throat too tight to speak. Somehow, he sensed this was the point of no return. Finally, he just nodded. 

Again, the blinding smile came out. That smile did make Dorian absolutely radiant, Klaus noticed in the one part of his mind that wasn't screaming that he was _out_ of his mind. 

Later, in bed with Dorian cuddled up next to him wearing one of his spare pairs of pajamas, Klaus stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he was going insane. How could he be doing this? 

But the warm body next to his was a comforting presence, something he hadn't realized that he missed. Klaus drifted off to sleep, suddenly confident that there would be no dreams that night. 

* * *

Victor watched as Mac scanned the streets below their rooftop perch. The job, this time, was simple enough. Provide security for a meeting of Asian rebels with NATO representatives, where presumably funding for the fight would be arranged. NATO was not supposed to have anything to do with Asia, but since when had that stopped anyone? 

"All clear," Mac said into the headset that they wore to connect them to the other teams. He nodded to Victor, who headed for the next vantage point. 

Normally they would be working inside, but this meeting was supposed to be secret, and no one not involved was allowed inside, even the men providing security. That way they could honestly say that they didn't know what was going on. 

As he moved across the rooftop, he watched for anything out of place. He didn't see anything. 

Hearing was a different matter. 

As he moved to a spot where he could see the next building and the next security team, he felt something shift under his foot, and there was an ominous click. 

"Mac?" 

"Yeah, gorgeous?" 

"I think I just stepped on something I shouldn't have." 

"So scrape it off." 

"Not that sort of something." 

Mac was at his side in an instant. Victor concentrated on not shifting his weight, while Mac crouched down to check the roof tile he was standing on. Normally, he liked having Mac in this position, but not at the moment. 

"Shit." 

Not a good sign. 

Mac flicked the switch on his headset. "Get the bomb-squad up here," he told the other teams. Considering the job, they had a bomb-squad on standby. 

The only thing was that he wasn't exactly expecting to be the one _standing_ on the bomb. 

Shit. 

**Boom!**

When Klaus woke the next morning, he was alone in his bed. 

For a moment, he wondered if the evening before had just been an insane dream, and was hit with a flash of regret at the thought. 

Then he noticed the rose on the bedside table, propped up against an elegant notecard embossed with the crest of the Earl of Red Gloria. Dorian. 

Klaus picked up the card, and hesitated for a moment before opening it. 

"My Dear Major," it said inside. 

"While I'm thrilled by the advances we've made, I feel that I shouldn't push you too fast. After all, I've waited this long. I can afford to be patient a while longer. So, I will give you time to adjust. 

"I would like to invite you to dinner at my club, this Saturday. I will come pick you up at seven in the evening. Do dress nicely. 

"If you need to speak to me sooner, please call." 

The note was signed with Dorian's name, in the flamboyant style that matched its owner. Beneath it was a local phone number. 

Briefly, Klaus was tempted to call Dorian and tell him that he'd changed his mind, and that the thief shouldn't bother coming by again, but his hand stopped just short of picking up phone. 

In his mind, he remembered the feeling of the night before. It was the first time in a long time that he'd shared a bed with anyone, and it had felt... nice. And Klaus hadn't pushed matters, either. Just a kiss, then a warm and comfortable sleep. 

Besides, he thought, his back straightening, to back out now would be the act of a coward, and Klaus von dem Eberbach was _not_ a coward. 

That settled, Klaus glanced over at the clock and realized that he was late. In fact, he was so late that he was going to have to skip his shower—something that offended his sensibilities— _and_ he was going to have to drive to work. Klaus hated having to deal with traffic and parking, so usually took the subway, but if he didn't he would be late. 

He settled for shaving, washing his face and brushing his teeth and hair before pulling on clean clothes and heading for the door. 

Once out on the street, he pulled out his keychain with its handy car remote, and clicked the buttons to start the engine and unlock the doors as he reached the vehicle. 

As the blast of his car exploding knocked him backwards, and his head hit the pavement behind him, Klaus's last thought was that the remote was worth its weight in gold. 

Then everything went black. 

* * *

Mac sighed, and nuzzled the side of Vic's throat, savoring the salty tang of the other man's sweat. The chest under his hand rumbled with what sounded suspiciously like a self-satisfied purr. He stroked the chest, prompting more purrs, doing his best not to think about the fact that his partner had almost ended up in little pieces. 

Getting Vic off of that bomb had been scary, but they only hired the best, and that went double for bomb experts. The device had been one of the most complicated that their men could remember seeing, and it had taken them more than an hour to deactivate it so that Vic could move, but they _had_ been successful. 

Mac had been ready for the nut-house by the time that Vic had been able to step away from the booby-trapped roof tile. 

The rest of the evening had been routine, other than the adrenaline rush from nearly having his lover blown to kingdom come. Then back to their hotel room. 

Where he'd immediately been pounced, fucked silly, then returned the favor. 

"You know, Vic," he said, rolling over on top of the older man, settling his weight down on Vic. "I knew that bullets flying turned you on, but I never suspected that a bomb would affect you _this_ much." 

Mac was a little surprised that he could joke so easily about what had happened, but as long as he continued joking, he wouldn't have that breakdown that was threatening. He did not want to think about life without Vic. Not now. Not ever. 

Vic grinned, then surged upwards to fasten his teeth on Mac's throat for a moment before dropping back against the pillows. 

"That's because the last few times we've been around bombs, we either haven't had the opportunity, or we weren't in any shape to do anything about it. After all, after Grubb nearly blew me up, we immediately had to fight those two wrestlers and ended up in traction. And the time after that, we hurt too much and were to busy getting out of the country to indulge." 

Green eyes glinted wickedly at him, and a not-so-subtle thrust upwards told Mac that his partner was already set for round three. Or was it round four? 

Mac snickered. _He_ wasn't going to be able to get it up again any time soon, but he was more than willing to oblige his lover. He lowered his head to suck at the exposed throat, and ground his still-soft (but sticky) groin against the hardness beneath him. In fact, he was beginning to feel a few twitches in his own groin that told him he might have spoken too soon. 

So of course the phone rang. 

Mac dropped his head until his forehead was resting against Vic's. 

"That's my cell," Vic said apologetically. 

Admitting defeat, Mac reached over and snagged the annoying device from the bedside table and handed it to the other man. 

"Thornton," Vic barked, using the pseudonym that he'd established when they'd first arrived in Europe. 

They'd been worried that anyone associated with the Agency might recognize the names Mac Ramsey and Vic Mansfield, so they had become Matthew "Matt" Blake and Richard "Dick" Thornton. That way, calling each other by their real names wouldn't be noticed. 

Mac rolled over onto his side, watching Vic's expressive face. He reached out and started running his hand down his lover's side. Vic batted the hand away with a fond grin, but stayed focused on the phone conversation. 

"Actually, I stepped on a bomb yesterday evening," he said in a tone of surprise. 

Mention of the bomb woke Mac from his semi-lustful haze, and he sat up. Vic mouthed 'Klaus' to him and he became even _more_ awake. 

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Listen, can you contact Dorian? Good. I think we need to meet. Right. We'll see you in a couple days then. Watch yourself. Bye." 

Vic put the phone down, a worried frown on his face. Mac chewed on the inside of his cheek, waiting for Vic to put whatever it was into words. 

"That was Klaus." 

Mac rolled his eyes. Like he hadn't already figured that out. 

"Someone planted a bomb in his car yesterday. Went off when the car started. The only reason he's still alive is because he's got one of those remotes that let you start the car before you get to it. Otherwise he'd be little fragments all over his block." 

Now Mac was _really_ worried. "Another bomb? I don't like these sorts of coincidences, Vic." 

Vic snorted. "Neither do I. I think our friends with the corpse-fetish are back. 

"Anyway, Klaus is going to call Dorian, then they'll come to our place so that we can make plans." 

Mac settled back against the pillows. "Damnit, Vic. I would have let the kidnapping and blackmail slide. Hey, everyone makes enemies. But now, trying to kill us..." 

Vic nodded, also settling back. "Now it's time to take them down before they try again." 

He rolled over and punched the pillow. "Better get some sleep, lover," Vic said. "Things are about to get complicated, I think." 

* * *

Dorian lounged in the parlor of his Berlin town house, idly flipping through a paperback novel. He wasn't really paying attention to the plot, but there wasn't much else to do. James was puttering around in the background, muttering to himself. 

Poor James. For the first time in years the dear boy didn't have any papers or reports or expense accounts to nag Dorian about. Everything was filled out, up to date and signed. James didn't have anything to do, as a result, and it was driving him nuts. He'd been reduced to working on the budgets for the next _decade_ for entertainment. 

Dorian smiled, and his thoughts returned to their favorite subject. The reason all the paperwork was up to date was that he'd wanted to give Klaus time to think, while not doing anything that might attract his attention or Interpol's. It had required a lot of self-control, but the results were worth it. 

Things were progressing nicely. He'd woken earlier than Klaus, cradled in the man's arms, and when he'd slipped out of bed, the other man had tried to tighten his grasp. Klaus's conscious mind may not be sure about their relationship, but his subconscious was. 

Dorian had been tempted to stay, but he knew that he had to continue with great care. Too much pressure would send Klaus running for cover. 

A dinner date was a nice place to start. Dorian's club was very exclusive, so they were not like to run into anyone that Klaus knew. The dining room there had several private alcoves, shielded from the rest of the room, but not completely shut off. It would let Klaus relax, knowing he wasn't alone with Dorian, but also not observed by anyone else. 

The man could be _so_ paranoid. 

Then there was the question of what to wear for their date. Dorian's personal tastes tended towards the flamboyant, but, again to spare Klaus's sensibilities, something more subdued would seem appropriate. However, his own sensibilities required something stylish. 

Dorian went through his closets mentally and smiled. He had a pair of grey slacks made of raw silk, with a matching sports coat in a slightly darker shade of grey. Paired with a dark blue silk blouse, the outfit would be beyond reproach, even to Klaus. Simple jewelry to go with it; a gold chain around the throat and a matching sapphire ring and earring set would do nicely. 

Dorian tossed the paperback aside, finally giving up on trying to read. It was nearly a week until their 'date', and here he was, already picking out his clothes like some sort of love-sick teenager. 

It was wonderful. 

Unfortunately, with all his attention on Klaus, his talents were going to start going stale. He needed to get as Eroica for a little practice. But a heist would annoy Klaus, so that was out. What were the alternatives? 

Dorian's smile turned predatory. He had just the thing. The art museum had just installed a new security system, but it wouldn't be able to stop him from breaking in, he was sure. 

He wouldn't take anything, though. Just... rearrange the paintings on the walls. He might even leave a report explaining _how_ he defeated their security system. Just in case they were interested in more improvements. 

That would be perfect. A bit of exercise, with a touch of altruism. 

"James," Dorian called out, moving over to a large bouquet of roses that sat in a wide-mouthed vase on a pedestal in front of the window. "Be a dear and find out what you can about the security system at the National Art Museum." 

Several of the roses had passed their prime, and he started pulling them from the arrangement, making sure that the resulting arrangement didn't show any holes. Behind him, he could hear James griping about the expense of getting that information and how Dorian was going to get them all in trouble again. The dear sounded happier already. 

Dorian ignored him, focused on the roses. 

When the phone rang, he reached into his pocket to retrieve the small device and held it to his ear. "Red Gloria," he said in an airy tone, plucking another rose from the bunch. 

"Are you all right?" 

Dorian's eyebrows went up at the sound of Klaus's voice. "Of course, Major," he said, wondering why Klaus would be calling him so soon. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Because someone planted a bomb in my car, and Mansfield and Ramsey were targeted by another bomb." 

Dorian plucked another rose from the bunch, frowning in thought. "Which is too much of a coincidence," he said, considering the possible reasons for the attacks. "That either connects it to the business with that Agency outfit, or else that job Mac and I were... coerced into a few months back. If it's the second..." 

"Then you're next." 

Dorian stared down at the vase, mulling over the possibilities. Then he frowned. For a moment he thought he saw a glint of light. 

There was another flash. Red. Swearing under his breath, Dorian pulled the rest of the bouquet out from the vase. 

"Klaus, I'm afraid I need to go. There's a bomb." 

Ignoring the shouts from the phone, Dorian dropped it and ran for the door, grabbing James by the collar as he passed the young man. 

They were just barely through the parlor door when the world exploded in a rush of sound and flame. 

  
**Council of War**

By the time Klaus made it to Dorian's townhouse, the fire department already had the blaze under control, but there wasn't much left of the building. 

He hadn't actually known where Dorian was, but it hadn't required much effort to find out from the police the site of the only explosion in Berlin at the time. 

The moment he'd had an address, he'd grabbed one of Interpol's official cars, leaving its driver behind, no doubt wetting himself in fear after a run-in with the "Iron Major" who'd been the terror of NATO intelligence for many years. 

Because of the fire and rescue crews—not to mention the number of police present—he'd had to park several blocks away and force his way through the crowds to reach the quiet residential street that was no longer, by any stretch of the imagination, quiet. 

There he stopped, and stared in disbelief. 

The building had been a pleasant little townhouse. Probably turn of the century, a perfect example of the city residence of the upper-crust during the gilded age. At least, that's what he guessed. 

Now the brick exterior was charred and blackened, dripping with water from the fire-hoses that were battling the fire. Through gaping holes that had once been windows, he could see that there wasn't much left of the interior. Not even floors or walls. Whatever type of bomb it had been, it had done an excellent job of destruction. Amazingly, though, the buildings to either side were almost completely untouched. 

After a moment, Klaus came back to his senses and started searching. Dorian had found the bomb _before_ it had gone off, so with any luck, he would have gotten out in time. Klaus ignored the little voice in the darkest parts of his mind that suggested that it would be so much easier for him if Dorian _hadn't_ managed to escape. 

A firefighter was the first person there in an official capacity that made the mistake of getting too close to Klaus. Unfortunately, he had no idea whether or not the building's residents got out before it exploded. Klaus let him go with only a few choice words about the man's competence. 

The next person was a police officer who snarled at him to keep out of the way of an official investigation, and wasn't overly impressed when Klaus snarled back. Instead, Klaus found himself escorted across the street by not one but _two_ policemen. 

He scanned the area, looking for someone else to question, and finally noticed the ambulance parked halfway down the block. 

Immediately, he headed for it, circling around to the back of the vehicle. There, he found James lying on a gurney with an oxygen mask over his face and Dorian sitting next to him while an ambulance attendant checked a cut on his arm. 

Dorian looked up, and broke into a bright smile. "Klaus! Sorry about cutting you off like that..." 

Klaus didn't reply. Instead he yanked the blond thief to his feet and hugged him tight for a second. Then he let go, just as quickly as he'd grabbed on, and stepped back. His jaw was tightly clenched, and there was a suspicious prickling behind his eyes that he chose to ignore. 

Dorian looked stunned. James looked murderous. 

"Well?" Klaus asked curtly. 

Dorian's mouth curved into a gentle smile. "The bomb was in a flower vase. I saw the lights flashing, so I grabbed James and ran. I'd just opened the door when it went off, and we were thrown clear." 

"Then why..." Klaus gestured towards the oxygen mask that James was wearing. 

"Because I almost died, and it's probably all _your_ fault!" James said, yanking it off and sitting up. "Do you know how much that townhouse cost? It's a total loss! And my _files_!" 

"James," Dorian said quietly, and the young accountant settled down to just a glower. 

"So now what?" Dorian asked, turning back to Klaus. 

"We go to Mansfield and Ramsey's place. We need to find out who is behind this and _stop_ them." 

"Vengeance?" 

"Practicality. If they tried to kill us once, then they will keep trying until they succeed, and they obviously don't care if they kill anyone else in getting to us. We need to take them out first." 

Dorian nodded, the graceful move marred only by the fact that part of his hair was charred, and there was a vivid bruise forming on one cheek. 

"James," he said, turning back to the still sulking young man. "Deal with the police and the insurance investigators, then go to London. Tell everyone to be ready, in case they are needed." 

The young man glared, but nodded. 

Dorian stood up and dropped the blanket that had been draped around his shoulders. Without a word, Klaus turned and led the way back to the car. 

"We need to stop at my office," he said, not trusting himself to look back at Dorian. "I need to collect the file I've put together so far. Then we'll head for France." 

"What ever you say, darling," was the light reply. 

* * *

The next afternoon, the four men sat clustered around the heavy wood table in the kitchen of Victor and Mac's country cottage. Spread out on the table were the pages of information that Klaus had brought with him. He was explaining the highlights. 

"New World is an organization of scientists, but with no publicly stated agenda. That in itself is unusual. These days, every group is championing a cause," Klaus said, with a certain amount of disdain in his voice. 

"Your Herr Bernhoff is one of the backers of the group. So is the owner of the... vacation home that Mansfield and I stayed in while the two of you made the trip to Moscow." 

Victor shuffled through the pages, finally settling on the list of names that Klaus had managed to link to New World. He scanned down the short list, noting which were funders and which were scientists. 

He stopped at one name and frowned. "Mac..." 

"Hmm?" Mac said absently, his eyes focused on a list of bank transactions made by the backers, looking for a pattern that might give them a clue of what the group was up to and where. 

"Take a look at this." 

Vic handed over the page, his finger pointing at one of the names. 

Mac looked at the line. He blinked. "Hasn't someone killed that weasel yet?" 

"Apparently not." 

"So what's he doing here?" 

"Good question." 

"Victor, darling. How about letting _us_ in on what you are talking about?" 

Victor looked over at where Dorian and Klaus sat, varying degrees of impatience on their faces. 

"Dr. Bernard Fry. He's on the list as a member. He _also_ has done work for the Agency in the past, developing designer drugs to control people, turning them into the perfect operatives. The last time we saw him, he'd been involved in an attempted coup within the Agency. I'm not sure what happened to him after that.." 

Klaus frowned. "Could your Agency be involved in New World?" 

Victor glanced over at Mac, who was still sitting with a puzzled expression on his face. "Actively? I don't think so. The Director wouldn't authorize an attempt on us. I think." 

He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "No, she wouldn't But that doesn't mean someone _else_ inside the Agency might not have their own agenda going on." 

Mac snorted. "It's not like _that's_ never happened before." 

Victor mock-glared at his unrepentant lover, then reached for the phone. "Well, there's only one way to find out." 

It was mid-afternoon, so in Toronto it would be early morning. Certainly, the Director—now Head—would be in the office. Victor still had trouble thinking of the woman as Head of the Agency. He'd known her as the Director, even though there were a dozen others who could claim the same name, and it was as the Director that he still thought of her. 

He dialed the number that he'd memorized—since you never knew when it might be needed—and waited for the other end to pick up. 

"What?" came from the other end in an impatient tone. 

"Hi?" 

"Victor!" The voice immediately warmed up, turning into the purr he remembered so well. Too well, perhaps. "What can I do for you? Convince you to come back?" 

Victor laughed. "No. Just looking for information." 

"Go for it." 

"Bernard Fry." 

"Dead." 

Victor frowned, and waved for the bank records. He flipped through them until he found the information that he wanted. "Well, unless dead men make bank deposits and withdrawals..." 

"Victor, I saw the body myself." 

"Shit. You're sure? Never mind. We've linked him to an organization that just tried to kill us, though, and they've got him listed as a current member." 

There was a squeaking noise, and his mind filled in an image of the older woman sitting up in her chair. 

"What organization?" 

"They call themselves 'New World'. We don't know what they're up to, but a few months back they kidnapped myself and another man to blackmail Mac and another thief into stealing something for them. Lenin's body, if you can believe it. And in the last few days, all of us have been targeted by bombs." 

"Victor, New World shows up in Agency records. _Old_ Agency records. Who else is associated with them?" 

Victor read off the list of names, nine in total: three backers and six scientists. He could hear the Director typing the names on a keyboard. 

A pause. 

"Four of those scientists did work for the Agency, back before I took over. Fry worked with drugs. Hoomang worked with genetic manipulation. Seward and Kryman worked with cloning. And all four of them are listed as dead, with bodies positively identified." 

"When?" 

There was more tapping. "All in the same week, about two months before the Head started killing off the Directors." 

Victor chewed at his bottom lip, ignoring the frustrated looks he was getting from the other three men. "Coincidence?" 

The Director snorted. "If you believe that, then you're more naive that I thought, Victor. He did say that the Agency's purpose had been fulfilled and it wasn't needed anymore," she added in a speculative tone. 

"Well," she said, suddenly all business. "I'm faxing you the files we have on them. I'll set Nathan to researching New World, and I'll arrange for a second look at the bodies of these people who seem to be very active for dead men and women." 

"Good. I'll call you tomorrow. Somehow, I don't think we should stay where we are." 

Victor cut the connection and looked at the other men. "Four of the scientists on the list did work for the Agency, and they're all supposed to be dead. They died, leaving positively identified bodies, a couple months before the Head tried to shut down the Agency." 

"Well, if they're dead..." Klaus started to say, but Dorian cut him off. 

"What fields were they in?" 

"Designer drugs, genetics and... cloning." 

That got raised eyebrows from everyone in the room. "Clones?" Mac said in disbelief. "That's science fiction!" 

Dorian shook his head. "It's been more than five years since scientists managed to clone a sheep. With access to unlimited funding the proper labs..." He trailed off, obviously not wanting to say what everyone was thinking. Victor said it instead. 

"Maybe they've managed to clone a human?" 

"It would explain how dead people are still alive, even though there were bodies to be identified," Klaus said with a frown. 

"Okay," Mac said, throwing up his hands. "Assuming that they've somehow managed to clone people, then why? And where do we come in?" 

Victor shuddered. There was only one thing that came to mind. "They wanted Lenin's body," he said, hesitantly. 

Everyone was looking at him in horror. 

"Clone Lenin?" Klaus said. "But why?" 

Dorian was looking at the papers on the table. "A New World..." he said, shuffling through them. 

"And whatever else you say about him, Lenin was a charismatic leader," Victor pointed out. He glared at the expression on Mac's face. "Hey, I didn't sleep through history class, unlike some people I know." 

Mac shrugged. "I didn't have any classes until the Tangs took me in, and then it was private tutors more interested in teaching me how to crack a safe." 

Victor shuddered at the reminder of Mac's childhood. Being raised by a crime family might have had some benefits, but there were some major drawbacks. The physical and mental scars that Mac had from being sexually abused by his foster brother might be barely noticeable, but they were still there, rearing their head at unexpected moments. 

"Anyway," he said, hearing the fax machine starting to spew out papers. "The Director is sending everything she has, and the Agency is going to start looking at New World from their end. Meanwhile, I think we should find someplace to stay that _isn't_ going to be linked to us." 

Dorian smiled. "I have a townhouse in Paris," he said, leaning back. "And unlike the Berlin townhouse, which belongs to Dorian Red Gloria, the Paris townhouse was bought through a series of cut-outs, not by me. It would take a lot of time and effort to link it to me." 

Mac nodded, and headed towards the bedroom. "Sounds good to me. It's been a while since we've spent any time in 'Gay Paree'." 

Victor snorted. "We are _not_ going sight-seeing," he yelled to Mac, who was already opening drawers and armoires to pull out clothes for packing. 

"Yes, dear," was the mocking answer. 

Vic snorted, and headed for the fax machine to collect the rapidly growing pile of pages. 

He just hoped that Paris would survive them. 

* * *

As the Director headed down the hallway, people got out of her way. She didn't notice, she was so intent on her thoughts. 

"Nathan!" she shouted, entering the sub-sub-basement that housed the Agency's records. 

A head topped with mousy brown hair stuck out from between two of the rows of bookcases. The man's eyes widened, and he broke into a sweat. He looked like he was about to bolt. 

"Nathan, come here," she said calmly, beckoning him with a crooked finger. "I just need some information." 

If anything, he looked even more terrified, but he did come. 

"Ye.. yes?" he said, voice cracking. She resisted the urge to sigh. While she didn't mind being feared, sometimes it frustrated her to deal with the paranoid little researcher who thought she was some sort of queen alien, come to take over the planet. However, he was excellent at his job. 

"I have a list of names, here," she said, holding out the piece of paper. Nathan darted forward and took it from her, then backed out of reach. "I want you to find out everything you can about them and an organization they belong to called New World." 

"Yes, ma'am," he said, his eyes darting between her and the page. 

This time she did sigh. She turned and headed for the door, stopping only to say, "This has priority, Nathan. I need the information _fast_." 

She didn't wait for a reply, heading back out to the corridor. 

If someone wanted Mac and Victor dead, she wanted them stopped. Immediately. She owed the two men her life. 

And she always paid her debts. 

  
**Gay Paree**

"I love Paris in the Spriiiiiiingtime," Mac warbled, completely missing the correct tune. Victor just shook his head. His partner probably didn't even _know_ the right tune. 

"You're drawing attention, Mac," he hissed, trying to ignore the sneers they were getting from the locals. Even more distracting was the prickle between his shoulder-blades, as if there were a gun aimed at his back. Hell, after the last week, that wasn't so far-fetched an idea. 

Mac just slapped him on the back and grinned at him. "C'mon, Vic. Lighten up! We're in the city of lights, the city of lovers, and it's a beautiful spring day. Enjoy it." 

Victor rolled his eyes. Yes, Mac was right. It _was_ a beautiful day and a beautiful city, but still... "And for all we know, there might be a team of assassins coming after us right now." 

Mac didn't look impressed. "And how would we know? For that matter, how would they know to look for us here? C'mon, we can't live constantly worrying about it or we'll turn into... into _Nathan_ ," he finally said, and Victor winced at the comparison. "Listen, if we hide away from the world because of what they _might_ do, then they've won. You said that yourself when we got home last time." 

Victor rolled the argument over in his mind, and had to admit, "You're right." He sighed. "But could you at least limit yourself to songs you _know_?" he asked his lover in a plaintive voice. 

Mac laughed, and threw an arm around his shoulders, pulling Victor into a fast hug. "Done," he said cheerfully. 

A few minutes later, Victor was beginning to regret that request. His own taste in music hadn't changed over the years; classical blues and jazz, most of it older than himself. Mac, on the other hand, went with whatever was currently popular. At the moment he was singing the latest hit making the rounds of the dance clubs. Victor hesitated at calling it singing, though, since he wasn't sure that it counted as music. 

They were headed for their favorite Paris restaurant, Chez Pauline. It was pricey, but the food was excellent. There were even a few dishes plain enough for Victor's meat and potato tastes. When Alice had come to visit them, she'd loved the restaurant, especially sitting on the upper level with a view of the world. 

"Ah! M'sieu Blake, M'sieu Thornton. So good to see you again. Your table is waiting." 

"How could we not come while in town, Oscar," Mac reassured the pinched- face man as they followed him to their usual table overlooking the lower level. They might only come in every couple of months or so, but Oscar was always happy to give them the same table. Victor had a sneaking suspicion that the Frenchman had a crush on his lover. 

"So, Vic," Mac said after they'd ordered. "How about Les Bains tonight?" 

"No. Definitely not. We do _not_ have the time to his the dance clubs," he said sternly. "We still need to decide out next move." 

Mac pouted slightly, showing off his full lower-lip, but Vic refused to give in. "Then I suppose Le Queen is out too?" Mac said with an impish grin. 

Victor promptly choked as the water he was sipping went down the wrong way. "Mac..." he said plaintively. Le Queen was one of the hottest gay clubs in Paris, and definitely _not_ his style. 

Les Bains was also a gay club, but a little less... flamboyant. It was also a club that you had to have the right look to get into, not that he or Mac ever had any trouble with that. In fact, he quite enjoyed Les Bains and being able to dance _with_ Mac in public, but was quite serious about them not having the time. 

Not until the organization that wanted them dead was dealt with. 

* * *


	6. Revenge of the Bolsheviks 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those unfamiliar with my series, Drowning Sorrows builds around the series John Woo's Once a Thief, and the growing relationship between Victor Mansfield and Mac Ramsey. At the end of the TV series, they were apparently killed in an explosion. In my world, they took the chance to leave the country, heading for Europe, where they made a life for themselves as security experts... and thieves. Always a Thief picks up three years later, when trouble inside the Agency forces the Director to call them in for help, finally admitting that she knew they were still alive. Also drawn in to the trouble is Klaus von dem Eberbach, formerly a Major in NATO Intelligence, now in Interpol. People familiar with the japanese comic (manga) series 'From Eroica With Love' will recognize Klaus. Revenge of the Bolsheviks is the newest book in the Drowning Sorrows series. A mysterious organization kidnaps Mac and the Earl Dorian Red Gloria (also known as the thief Eroica). What are they up to? Starts about six months after the end of Always A Thief. There is also a couple of side stories that falls between Drowning Sorrows and Always a Thief, and I'm sure that there will be more to come.

  
**Part 2**

Mac wadded up his napkin and dropped it on the table with a sigh. The food had been up to the usual high standards of Chez Pauline. Fine French cuisine, liberally laced with wine, followed by a dessert that would put flesh on a supermodel, with a glass of fine wine to wash it down. Combined with the best company, the meal had been a wonderful tension- breaker. Vic was right about them being in danger, but there was a point where you had to relieve the tension before it drove you nuts. 

He sipped at the dark red wine, looking around at the rest of the diners. 

Suddenly, he blinked, glancing over at an out-of-the-way corner, barely visible from where they sat. "Vic," he said very casually, setting his wine glass down. 

"Hmmm?" was the sated reply. Normally he would have paused to admire the drowsy smile on the older man's face, but... 

"Five o'clock from you. Who do you see?" 

Very casually, Vic glanced around, and his eyes went wide. "Bernhoff." 

"Yep." 

"I don't recognize the man with him, though." 

Mac leaned back until he couldn't see the two men at the other table, and hopefully they couldn't see him. "I do. Vincent diPaul de Venard." 

Vic frowned, a few small lines forming between his eyes. "I know that name," he muttered to himself. 

"A French mobster, based out of Marseilles. We've never targeted him. He used to do business with the Tangs." 

"Would he recognize you?" 

Mac snorted, very quietly. Now was _not_ a good time to attract attention. "Oh, I don't know. I did steal his Porche when I was nineteen." 

Vic sighed. "He'll recognize you," he said in a resigned tone. 

Mac discretely signaled the waiter for the check. Once it was paid, they made their way to the door, Mac making sure that he kept his back to the two men and Vic between him and them. Still, he didn't relax completely until they were out the door and several blocks away. 

Next to him, Vic breathed a sigh of relief. "So why would this mobster be meeting with Bernhoff?" he asked. 

Mac started ticking off the possibilities on his fingers. "New World is looking for finances. New World wants to hire himself for something else. He's a member of New World. He and Bernhoff are having a steamy romance." 

They looked at each other and chorused, "Ewwwwwww." 

"Okay, skip that last one," Vic said. "The first two are definite possibles. What about the third?" 

Mac shrugged. "When I knew him, Vince was the head of the French Mob, based on money and connections, but most of that was dependant on the Tangs. When they collapsed, he lost power, and believe me, Vince _loves_ power. If New World could give it to him, he'd climb into bed with them in a second." 

Vic was giving him a searching look, but Mac kept quiet. What was there to say? Vince had made a pass at him, sure, and he hadn't been happy about being told no. It was part of why Mac had decided to steal his car, along with the fact that the man was an bore. Vince hadn't dared to do anything, though. Mac had the protection of the Tangs, and Vince needed the Tangs to keep power. 

Hadn't stopped the old man from pinning his ears back for the stunt, though. 

"So being a member is also a good possibility," Vic said. "C'mon. We need to get back to the townhouse." 

* * *

Klaus stood at the window looking out at the late afternoon view, trying to ignore the room's flamboyant design which suited its owner so well. 

They'd arrived in Paris late that morning, and Ramsey had promptly dragged Mansfield out the door to go to lunch at some fancy restaurant. Klaus had protested the wisdom of that indulgence, but Ramsey had ignored him. 

"Are you alright, Klaus?" 

Klaus accepted the cup of coffee, but didn't look at the blond man standing next to him. But the entire side of his body nearest to Dorian prickled, as if he were standing next to a magnetic source. 

Magnetic source. As good a term as any for Dorian Red Gloria. For more than a decade the thief had pursued him and he had evaded, but something always seemed to draw them together. Certainly, their encounters were often deliberately contrived by Dorian, but far too often it was chance that threw them together, again and again. Obviously, it had been pointless to resist. 

"Klaus?" 

Klaus started, suddenly realizing that Dorian was still waiting for a reply. "I'm fine," he snapped, angry at himself for being so distracted. 

Dorian ignored the irate tone. He pressed up against his back and slipped his arms around Klaus's waist, resting his face against Klaus's shoulder. Klaus tensed up, but the other man ignored the rigid stance. 

Klaus stayed the way he was for several minutes, but Dorian didn't move away. Finally, he sighed and relaxed. He could feel Dorian's cheek move against his back as the other man smiled. 

"You need to learn to relax, darling," was the quiet comment. 

His temper flaring, Klaus spun around to face the blond. "Relax? We were both nearly killed by bombs, and we are being targeted by a mysterious group whose motives are a mystery, and you want me to _relax_?" 

Dorian just smiled. "If you don't, they won't need to do anything. You'll work yourself into a stroke, saving them the trouble. And," he purred, moving in closer, "I would be most unhappy if that happened." 

"Dorian," Klaus said, exasperated. He resisted the urge to back away. Before he could continue, though, long arms wound around his neck and warm lips pressed against his. 

Once again, his traitorous body immediately responded to the touch, and he found himself participating almost eagerly in the kiss. It was so... intoxicating that he forgot about their surroundings until he heard applause. 

Pulling away, he turned to find Mansfield and Ramsey standing in the doorway. Naturally, Ramsey was the one applauding. Klaus resisted the urge to snarl at the man, knowing that he wouldn't care. 

"Enough, Mac," his partner said. "We don't have time for that." 

He turned, ignoring Ramsey's good-natured grip about being to serious. "We now have a link between New World and the French Mob." 

* * *

"So we're decided?" Dorian asked, many hours later. 

He looked around the room and didn't see any signs of disagreement. "I still wish you would let me go with you," he said, yet again. 

Victor shook his head. "No offense, Dorian, but Mac and I have been working together for years. We know what to expect from each other. We don't really have time to learn to work with a new person." 

"I had no trouble working with Mac in Moscow," he pointed out. 

"Yeah, we worked together. But I still kept getting thrown off-balance every time I turned around because I expected Vic to be there instead," Mac replied with a shrug. 

"Whatever," Klaus broke in. "We leave for Marseilles tomorrow. The two of you break into de Venard's compound to find anything links to New World. It's the only lead we have, so don't screw it up." 

"Klaus, I'm _wounded_ ," Mac said, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead in a dramatic gesture that had Dorian smiling behind a concealing hand. "We're the _best_ , after all." 

"Don't tease the man, Mac," Victor said, heading for the door, pulling his partner behind him. "We'll see you in the morning," he threw over his shoulder. 

"Don't do anything _we_ wouldn't do, children," Mac called, as they disappeared from sight. 

Dorian leaned back in his chair, no longer bothering to hide his smile. Klaus was turning red, and looked like he was about to explode. 

"It was a joke, darling," Dorian said, trying to soothe the man. Klaus didn't say a word. Dorian could almost see the storm cloud's gathering over the man's head. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and said, "If we're going to leave for Marseilles early in the morning, we should head for bed." 

"What!?" 

Dorian sighed, taking in the tense body-language. "To sleep, Klaus. That's all." He headed for the door, and after a moment, Klaus followed. 

Upstairs were several bedrooms. As he passed one, Dorian could hear voices. They were loud enough to recognize as Mac and Victor, but not enough to understand what they were saying. 

Dorian led the way to the door furthest from the already occupied bedroom. It was seperated from the other bedroom by a bathroom. Across the hall was the master bedroom, which had its own bathroom. He opened the door with a flourish. "Good night, Klaus," he said as the man passed him. 

"And where are _you_ sleeping?" Klaus asked, suspiciously. 

Dorian sighed. "Across the hall," he said, pointing to the door. "You are welcome to join me, if you like. Otherwise, I'll see you in the morning." 

In his room, Dorian pulled out a pair of silk pajamas. He normally didn't wear anything to bed, but if Klaus _did_ decide to join him, the man would probably be more comfortable if Dorian wasn't nude. 

A fast shower relaxed some of the tension that had spilled over from the German, and Dorian was ready for sleep. As he climbed into bed, Dorian briefly wondered if Klaus was worth the effort. The he snorted. Of course he was. 

With that thought in mind, Dorian started to drift to sleep. 

* * *

"You know, I never would have thought that blondie could pull it off," Mac snickered. 

Victor sighed. "Back off, Mac. Klaus looks ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. You push and Dorian is back at square one. Or worse." He wasn't sure just _why_ Dorian was so fixated on the uptight German, but he didn't want ruin the man's chances. 

Mac grinned at him. "Would I do that?" he asked in a voice dripping with innocence. Victor just snorted. "Well, I guess you'll just have to keep me too distracted to say anything." 

"Distracted? I'll show you distracted." 

In one quick motion, Victor rolled over on top of Mac and pinned his lover's wrists to the mattress. He swooped in and kissed Mac until they were both breathless. 

Then he pulled back. "Well?" he asked. 

Mac looked back at him, eyes glazed. "Huh?" 

Victor grinned. Mission accomplished. Of course there was now another problem to take care of, but he was ready for it. 

Keeping as much body contact as he could, Victor moved down Mac's body, licking, nibbling and sucking as he went. By the time he reached the other man's groin, Mac was begging. Loudly. 

"Please, Vic, please. Suck me. Oh God. Need you. Please. Yes! Oh, yes. Soooo good. Vic, yes. Vic!" 

Victor's ears were ringing by the time Mac came in his mouth. Very self- satisfied, he stretched out next to his lover and waited for him to recover. 

He didn't have to wait long. 

"Your turn, lover," Mac growled, flipping him over. Victor didn't resist. 

* * *

Klaus stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the obvious sounds of sex coming from the room down the hall. More difficult to ignore was the way his own body was responding to those sounds. 

When thinking cold thoughts failed, Klaus reached down, intending to take care of the problem. Then he stopped. It didn't feel... right. Still staring at the ceiling, Klaus wondered why. 

Finally, he conceded defeat, and climbed out of bed. Moving as quietly as possible, he walked across the hall to open the door opposite. 

Dorian sat up in the bed, blinking sleepily in the light from the hallway. Klaus stood still, waiting. Dorian pulled back the covers, and silently patted the mattress beside him. 

Klaus climbed into the bed, and Dorian moved into his arms. A stray limb brushed his erection, and he gasped, ever so slightly. 

Dorian smiled and kissed him, his hands already reaching for the drawstring on Klaus's pajama bottoms. Still silent, the blond thief pushed them down, out of the way, then did the same to his own. Then he rolled over onto his back, pulling Klaus over on top of him. 

As their erections brushed against each other, Klaus gasped again, then bit his lip. He was _not_ going to put on a show like the two men down the hall. Instead, he kissed Dorian, muffling them both. 

Operating purely on instinct, Klaus's hips started to thrust, rubbing his erection against Dorian's. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he fought to keep quiet. He might not know what he was doing, but it felt good. Too good. 

Very soon, his movements became erratic, and he felt climax hit him like an explosion. Below him, Dorian tensed and made a faint sound that might have been his name, then added his own fluids to the mix. 

Klaus rolled away, suddenly feeling guilty for using Dorian simply because he couldn't control his own urges. Eyes closed, he felt Dorian climb out of the bed. 

The sound of running water came to him, then after a minute, the bed dipped again. 

A warm, damp cloth ran over his genitals. Then his pajama bottoms, which were still bunched around his knees, were pulled up and refastened. He heard the cloth drop into some sort of ceramic container, then Dorian was cuddling up against his side again. 

"Thank you," Dorian whispered in his ear, then relaxed. 

Thank you? For what? 

Before Klaus could ponder the question, he fell asleep. 

  
**Night-Time Raid**

The Director—Di to a very privileged few—stared at her computer screen and sighed. The one thing she'd learned to hate most about being head of the Agency over the last few months was the paperwork. As Director, she'd been responsible for a large chunk of North America. As Head, she was responsible for the world. Every day started with the reports from thirteen Directors. Every day ended the same. She hadn't had a decent night out in weeks. She hadn't even been to the Caligula in months. 

LiAnn, bless her, had offered to take on some of the work, but Di had refused. As a Director, LiAnn had her own responsibilities, often more immediate than those of her boss: she didn't really have the time to do another person's work. Besides, Di thought to herself, she'd feel guilty if she didn't do the work for herself, and she _hated_ feeling guilty. 

She was tapping one long fingernail against the top of her desk as she read the latest useless report when the office door opened, and she looked up to find the object of her thoughts entering the room. She smiled fondly at the young woman—protÈgÈ, subordinate, right hand, lover. She might not be willing to take the slim oriental up on her offer, but without LiAnn to provide distraction, she would probably burn out quickly. There was a reason why the Agency upper-echelons had a reputation for being... eccentric. 

LiAnn held out the file folder she was carrying. "The autopsy report on Fry." 

The Director closed the file she was reading and reclined back in her seat, her hands folded together in front of her. "Well?" she said expectantly. 

"Genetically, a near perfect match," LiAnn said, slipping into one of the leather-bound chairs that sat in front of her boss's desk. "It took a full genetic scan to find that several of his chromosomes had errors. The lab techs called it a photocopy effect." 

Di frowned at that. "In other words, an almost identical copy, with only a slightly fuzzing of the details." 

LiAnn nodded. "Exactly. It wouldn't be noticeable in a post-mortem unless you were looking specifically for it. However, the brain was not fully developed. Whatever it was, it wouldn't have been viable. But since Fry had _apparently_ died of a heart attack, they didn't bother checking the brain." 

"So the Fry we buried was a clone," the Director said, looking up at the ceiling as she thought. "How very interesting." 

"Do you want the others exhumed?" 

She waved her hand in negative. "No. One exhumation was enough of a risk. If we dig up the others, this New World group will get suspicious. No. I suspect we'd just find the same thing anyway." She sighed. "Living, dead and living again: that man is a _pain_." 

* * *

From their vantage point overlooking de Venard's Marseilles estate, Mac scanned the grounds. The night was moonless, but the night-vision binoculars translated the darkness to a green haze in which he could easily see the figures moving around. 

"They've let the dogs out," he reported to his partner. "The guards just finished their patrol and went inside." 

Vic grunted in reply. "Let me know when they find the meat." 

They'd cased the estate for two days before making their plan. Even though Vince was still out of town, the estate was too busy during the day to try to get in. But at night, guard dogs were let loose on the grounds and the few patrols stayed inside most of the time. 

They could have tried bluffing their way in, but that was too risky. Vince might still have people who remembered Mac, and he wasn't about to let Vic try it on his own. 

So they had come up with a tentative plan, and had dry-run it the night before. 

Step one was to make a hole in the electronic circuit that ran through the fence around the perimeter. That was both easy and difficult. All you had to do was give the current an alternate route. The tricky thing was to make sure that the resistence was so close to the original that the switchover didn't trigger any alarms. They'd tried and succeeded the day before. This had been done during the day when they didn't risk being scented by the dogs. 

Step two was to deal with the dogs. The night before, they'd slipped meat into the compound to see if the dogs had been trained to avoid any food not supplied by their handlers. If they had, the training had failed miserably. The dogs had found the meat, distributed at even intervals along the fence, and had eagerly devoured it all. 

They'd repeated the bait tonight, but this time the meat had been dosed with a knockout drug that was both odorless and tasteless, as well as fast acting. As soon as the dogs were asleep, they would recreate the hole in the fence and slip into the compound. 

That just left step three, the only one untried: getting inside the building and finding Vince's study, then searching it. If they were luck, they would find something related to New World. Something to lead them to the organization's home base. 

If not... Well then they'd be back to square one. 

Mac picked up the night-vision binoculars and did a scan. Finding the motionless forms of dogs, he started counting. "I see six," he told Vic. "None of them moving." 

"How many were let out?" 

"Seven. The last one might just be out of my line of sight." 

"Maybe." Vic frowned. "We can't wait all night to be sure. We'll go in. Just keep an eye out for lucky number seven." 

"Gotcha." 

Reopening the hole in the security fence was easier than creating it in the first place. After only a few minutes, they were through. 

Then it was just a matter of making their way across the lawn, avoiding the security cameras that scanned at intervals regular enough to make them a joke. All you had to do was watch them for an hour or two to work out the pattern, then plan your moves accordingly. They'd figured out the pattern the night before, and had taken the time to make sure it hadn't changed when they arrived that night. 

Finally, they were inside the building and things got really interesting. Dorian's organization had managed to get a hold of the plans to the villa as it was when it was originally constructed. There were no guarantees that changes hadn't been made in the decades since then, but it was a place to start. Looking at the plans, they listed off the most likely places to be de Venard's office. 

Choice one—the library—turned out to be just that. It was beautifully decorated, and where he met with visitors, but a quick search found no files or safe. It was also as far into the estate as Mac had ever gotten, back when Old Man Tang had sent him to deliver a package to de Venard. He'd only been inside the once—and had been quite intent on keeping it as quick as possible at the time—but it was more than anyone else in their group could say. 

They moved onto choice two. That was a den attached to the master suite. There they hit jackpot. The room had a desk covered with papers, though none of them were of any use. Neither were any of the files in the cabinet against the wall, so they started looking for a safe 

Vic was the one who found it, set in the wall behind the bookcase. Move the row of books out of the way, remove the concealing panel and the safe was revealed. 

Mac cracked his knuckles, grinning with anticipation, and set out to prove once more that he was the _master_ of cracking safes. 

* * *

"I still think they should have taken me with them." 

Dorian stopped and glanced over at his companion. He stifled a sigh. Klaus was sitting in the corner chair, methodically breaking down and cleaning his favorite gun. He didn't seem to be paying any attention, although Dorian knew he was aware of everything in the room. 

Dorian turned and started pacing again. The main problem was that he hated being bored, and he was. Bored, that is. A good break-in was just what he needed, but if it was a choice between him going alone and Victor and Mac going as a team he had to admit that it was better that they went. Besides, Mac had already been inside the mobster's home once before, even if it were a long time ago. 

But it meant that Dorian had to stay behind at the hotel and wait. Patience just wasn't his strong point, despite his more than a decade courtship of the dark-haired man now quietly reassembling his gun. 

Finally he decided that enough was enough. With quick efficient motions, he started to strip. Klaus looked up wide-eyed, like an animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, and Dorian snickered to himself. Ignoring the man, he pulled dark trousers and turtleneck from his bag and started putting them on. 

Klaus frowned, and his expression turned suspicious. "What are you doing?" he demanded. 

Dorian pulled the turtleneck over his head, then ran his fingers through his blond curls, setting them back in place. "I'm heading to de Venard's, just in case they need backup." 

"Dorian..." 

Dorian shook his head. "I'm not going to interfere," he assured the taller man. "Just watch. If something _does_ go wrong, they'll need a rescue, or at least a getaway car." 

Dorian grabbed the keys for the second rental car, the first having been taken by the other two men, and headed for the door. 

Klaus groaned. "Wait up," he said, slipping the now in perfect working order gun into its holster. He stood and grabbed his trenchcoat before following Dorian. 

"Klaus, you don't..." Dorian started to protest, but was silenced by the other man's glare. 

"If you get me into trouble, I'll take it out of your hide. Now let's go." 

Dorian couldn't suppress the grin, so he didn't even bother trying. "Yes, dear," he said. 

A growl was the only response. 

* * *

Inside the study, Mac quickly had the safe open. He carefully removed everything for examination, then sighed in frustration. "Nothing," he growled to his partner. 

Vic was frowning, but not at the pile of papers. He was carefully examining the inside of the safe. "Is this the standard model for this kind of safe?" 

Mac took a closer look. "Looks like," he said. "Why?" 

Vic reached in and started feeling around the inside of the safe. "Because it's about four inches too shallow, that's why." 

He paused, then pressed something not visible to Mac. With a grin of triumph, he pulled out the back of the safe. 

Behind a false panel were five diskettes. Vic brought them out. 

"Unlabeled," he said, then reached for his bag. From it, he took a slim box. It was looked like an external disk drive, the type you used with a laptop too small for a built-in drive, but had a series of buttons on the top. 

Grabbing the first diskette, he slid it into the box, then pressed a button on top. A green light went on, and there was a faint whirring noise. After a moment, there was a beep informing the user that the file copy was complete, and he exchanged the diskette for the next one. 

After all five diskettes had been fed through the reader, he carefully put the diskettes back, and re-inserted the back panel. Vic slipped the disk reader back into his equipment bag. 

Working quickly, Mac started putting everything back into the safe, exactly the same way it had been before. The whole idea, like their Robin Hood break-ins, was to get the information, but make it look like no one had been there. 

When everything looked just right, he moved to close the safe and reset the dial to exactly the same setting as before. Mac was grinning. Everything was working _exactly_ according to plan. 

So of course, that was the moment when all the lights came on, and a mocking voice was heard from behind them. 

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" 

Mac winced and turned around, his hands already going up in the air. Next to him, Vic did the same. 

Vincent diPaul de Venard. Five thugs. Guns pointed in their direction. 

Busted. 

  
**Back-up**

Klaus pulled to a stop next to Ramsey and Mansfield's rental car and turned the car's engine off. Dorian immediately jumped out and went to check the section of fence where the two thieves had planned to go in through. 

He was back quickly, and slid into the passenger seat. "Everything's in place, and the estate looks quiet," he reported. "Looks like everything is going according to plan." 

Klaus sighed. "Can we go, then?" he asked impatiently, not expecting an affirmative answer. He'd learned over the years that Dorian had difficulties sitting back while someone else did the job; he wanted to be in the thick of things. Dorian was most definitely an adrenaline junkie. 

Dorian reached over and patted his knee. "Relax, Darling. Let's wait until the boys get out. Just because things are going find _now_ doesn't mean that something might not still go wrong." 

Klaus rolled his eyes and relaxed into his seat. Knowing Dorian, it was going to be a long wait. It wouldn't matter _how_ fast Ramsey and Mansfield were, it would still be too long for him. 

He closed his eyes, planning to pass the time trying—no doubt unsuccessfully—to ignore Dorian and mentally going over the case-load of his department at Interpol. Officially he was on leave, recovering from the stress of nearly being killed. A different office was handing the official investigation into the bomb that had been planted in his car and the related bomb at Dorian's townhouse. Unofficially, he considered it far more likely that the four of them would solve the case first, especially considering the resistance he'd run into over investigating their earlier encounter with 'New World'. 

He was shaken out of his reverie by a touch, followed by a weight settling onto his lap. He opened his eyes and frowned at Dorian. The blond just grinned back at him from his new position, sitting in Klaus's lap, and wrapped his arms around the German's neck. 

"Aren't you uncomfortable?" Klaus asked, determinedly not responding to the obvious flirtation or invitation. A response would be taken as encouragement, he knew well. 

"Well, now that you mention it, the wheel _is_ digging into my hip," Dorian said. "Perhaps you could move the seat back?" 

"Perhaps you could move back to your own seat?" 

"But it's much more difficult to make out with you from over there." 

"Good," he replied in a flat voice. He was working very hard at ignore his body's reaction to Dorian's nearness. Ever since that first night on the train, he'd found his will to resist Dorian weakening. For years he'd successfully resisted the man, and now he was dismayed to find that Dorian could probably twist him around his little finger if he exerted himself. It was purest chance that Dorian hadn't yet, but that seemed likely to change in the near-future. 

Dorian just snuggled in a little closer. "Come on, Darling. Haven't you ever made out in a car?" 

"No." 

Dorian pulled away, a surprised look on his face. "Never? Well then, we'll have to correct that. Or better yet we could get in the back seat and..." 

Klaus's jaw tightened. "No. We are not 'making out' or anything else in this car. Not when anyone might walk by and see us." Despite his pronouncement, a little voice was wondering what it might be like. He squashed it down firmly. Unlike Dorian, he was not an exhibitionist. 

"But Darling, that's half the fun. The possibility of being discovered." 

"No! If we are here to provide backup for Ramsey and Mansfield, that is what we will do. Otherwise we will go back to the hotel to wait for them." 

Dorian pouted. "All right," he said, not moving an inch. "One kiss, then it's all business." 

"Dorian..." 

"One kiss. Or we go back to the hotel and..." A hand wormed its way between them and maneuvered its way down under Klaus's belt. He quickly caught the hand and pulled it away. 

"We don't have time," he said, wondering if the excuse sounded as weak as his voice did to his ears. From Dorian's expression, it did. 

"Just one kiss," he repeated, his lips only an inch from Klaus, waiting for Klaus to make the move. His laughing eyes daring Klaus to make that move. 

Klaus sighed. Obviously he wasn't to get out of this without kissing the blond. Dorian had always delighted in pushing his limits—not to mention his buttons—and that obviously wasn't going to change now that they were... whatever they were. Klaus flinched from the obvious term. He still wasn't sure he ready for that. 

Deciding that the best thing to do was to simply get it over with (he ignored the voice in the back of his mind that snickered at that), Klaus closed that last inch to bring their lips together. 

The kiss started out chaste, just a light pressure against the other man's lips. Like the rest of him, Dorian's lips were strong, but still soft, and Klaus found himself touching them with his tongue, categorizing the differences between them and the lips of the very few women he'd kissed in his life. 

But then Dorian opened his mouth, and Klaus found his tongue automatically dipping inside. The sudden slide of Dorian's tongue against his own had an immediate and dizzying effect on him. He gasped, and his arms came around Dorian's waist, holding his body tightly. His hands started moving, first rubbing Dorian's back through the knit fabric of his poloneck sweater, then moving underneath the suddenly untucked top to caress soft skin layered over strong muscles. 

Meanwhile, Dorian wasn't wasting any time either. His hands combed through Klaus's dark locks, ruffling the hair and twisting it around long fingers before moving to toy with the tiny fine hairs at the base of his neck. Dorian shifted restlessly in his lap, grinding—no doubt deliberately—onto his genitals, which were quickly swelling to full size. 

And through it all, their lips never parted 

Finally, Dorian pulled away with a muffled oath—something about the small confines of rental cars. He twisted around, obviously trying to figure some way to straddle Klaus's lap. Klaus stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, then came to his senses. 

"No. One kiss, you said," he gasped, trying to regain his composure, wondering what was happening to him. When had he lost his self-control? 

"Darling," Dorian said in a mock-stern voice. 

"No! What if..." 

That was when the alarms started sounding and the lights came on in the compound. Cursing, Klaus reached for his gun while Dorian extracted himself from his awkward position. 

What had gone wrong _this_ time? 

* * *

"//Well, what have we here? Two little thieves come to steal the life earnings of an honest businessman?//" 

"Right, Vince," Mac drawled in English. "You're no more an honest businessman than I'm the Queen of Sheba." 

"Your highness," the Frenchman replied with a mocking bow. Victor appreciated the switch in languages. While his French was quite good after living in France for nearly four years, he still preferred to stick to his mother-tongue when the stakes were high, and he had a feeling that they didn't get much higher than this. 

de Venard nodded to one of his men. Victor and Mac were quickly and efficiently frisked. All their weapons were confiscated, along with Mac's bracelet (which hid a wire-saw) and Victor's belt (which contained their backup lockpick set) but they weren't restrained. 

"Very good," the man said, nodding to his men. Then he turned back to his captives. "Kneel." 

Victor and Mac both snorted. "I don't _think_ so," Mac said, stepping forward aggressively. 

Instantly, every gun in the room snapped to focus on them, and Mac stepped back again. Victor glanced over at Mac, and they both shrugged before sinking to their knees in matching fluid movements. de Venard smiled, and stepped over to in front of Mac. 

"A good position for you, monsieur Ramsey. Oh yes, I remember you. How could a man forget that face, those lips." The older man reached out to touch the lips in question, but a snap of Mac's teeth made him jerk his hand back, a flash of panic passing across his face. Victor had to bite back a snicker at the man's obvious cowardice. 

However, de Venard immediately covered it up by backhanding Mac across the face. The only thing that stopped Victor from ripping the man to shreds for his actions were the guns pointed at both him and his partner, held by men who were obviously competent and ready to use them. 

"Really, my dear boy, you should be more cautious," the man said as a thin trickle of blood ran from Mac's cut lip. "When last we met, you were protected by the Tangs, but now they are gone. Even your Agency can't help you anymore." 

Victor froze at that. "Agency? Which one?" Mac asked, his face a study in innocence. 

Once again, de Venard backhanded him. "Oh, very nicely played, dear Mac. However, I know all about your life since we last met." 

"If you say so," Mac replied, shrugging his shoulders. Victor gritted his teeth, willing his lover to stop baiting the man. Mac was going to get himself killed if he kept this up. If he did, Victor promised himself that de Venard wouldn't outlive him by more than a minute. 

"You know, it's a pity, though," de Venard continued. "If you'd been more accommodating the last time we met, I might be inclined to be more accommodating now." 

"You wanted me to give you a _blowjob_ ," Mac protested, sounding nauseated. Looking at the overweight, greasy-skinned man, Victor had to agree with the outrage. Not even for _money_. 

"That wasn't so much to ask, was it? Perhaps I should give you a second chance..." The Frenchman reached down and rubbed at his groin suggestively. Victor could feel the bile moving in the back of his throat at the sight. This was even worse than the Elvis-wannabe mobster who'd called himself 'The King'. 

Mac snorted. "Not likely, Vince. You were disgusting then, and you're _still_ disgusting. You couldn't pay me enough to touch you, let alone do anything else." He turned his head, deliberately not looking at de Venard any longer. 

As a result, he didn't see the expression of pure fury that passed across the man's face. Victor did, and it made his blood run cold. The man might be a middle-aged, overweight, cowardly, out of favor gangster, but the man was still dangerous. 

For a moment, de Venard's fist clenched, and Victor was sure that Mac was about to acquire another bruise, but then it relaxed. Instead, de Venard moved over to the desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a cell-phone of a type that Victor had never seen before and punched a button, waited a moment, then punched in a series of numbers too fast for Victor to follow. Then he held it up to his ear. 

"de Venard. I have Mansfield and Ramsey. No, no sign. Do you want me to kill them?" he paused and waited. "Understood. At once," he said in an ingratiating tone. 

He turned the phone off and turned back to his waiting prisoners. "The two of you are going to take a little trip," he said in a mock-cheerful tone. "A final trip. A pity that we couldn't find another solution." 

The man stopped, then turned to Victor with a speculative look on his face. Victor growled as the man stopped in front of him and reached out a hand to cup his chin. Victor flinched at the touch of those clammy fingers. 

"You know, monsieur Ramsey has excellent taste. Perhaps you would be more inclined to avoid the same fate, though. What do you say, monsieur Mansfield? I could tell them that you died in a foolish escape attempt. I can offer you a life of luxury. In return for services, of course." 

The bile was rising again. "I say move your hand before I rip it off at the shoulder," he grated out, fixing the man with his coldest glare. de Venard actually flinched at the sight. 

"A pity," he said, stepping back. Victor resisted the urge to wipe his face clean of the man's touch; he didn't think the man's thugs would react well to him moving. "Take them out to the airfield," he told the goons. "A plane will be here to pick them up in an hour." 

The lead goon gestured with his gun for Mac and Victor to stand up. As he did, Victor casually grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. 

Instantly, every eye in the room was focused on him and he froze. "Drop it," the goon said. 

"No, let him keep it," de Venard said with a wave of his hand. "I'm sure they'll be interested in seeing what two thieves bring to a job. But if he opens the bag, shoot him." 

Victor held his hands out to the side, trying to look innocent. Maybe they didn't have a chance of escape, but if a miracle happened, he did _not_ want to lose the information they'd broken in to get in the first place. 

The goons escorted them out the front door and into a waiting van. It was a little crowded, so two of the goons stayed behind. That left only the driver, the goon in the passenger seat and the two in back with Victor and Mac. The odds were improving, but not by much. 

* * *

"Anything?" Klaus asked. 

"No," Dorian replied, not moving the binoculars from his eyes. 

After the alarm had gone off, they'd quickly straightened their clothes, then moved the car to a spot where they could see both the drive and estate's front door. They'd already seen the security guards move out onto the grounds, finding the spot where the two men had gone in, along with their rental car. 

Klaus double-checked his gun, for the third time since they'd taken up position. If Dorian hadn't insisted on coming out... He sighed. Much as he hated to, he was going to have to say it. 

"You were right to insist that we come out as backup," he said reluctantly. 

Dorian didn't move, but Klaus could see the gentle smile blossom on his lips. "Thank you," was all that the blond thief said. At least it wasn't an 'I told you so'. 

Suddenly, Dorian straightened in his seat. "Van," he said. 

Looking down the drive, Klaus could see the dark van pulling up in front of the main doors. The doors opened, and a large group came out. Dorian frowned. 

"The boys," he said. "And guards. Two got in back with them. One got in up front with the driver. The rest are staying behind." 

The van started moving, and Klaus started the engine in the rental car. Next to him, Dorian stowed the binoculars away. 

They could see the gate open and the van pull out onto the main road. Klaus put the car in drive and set out to follow the van from a discrete distance. Unlike his attempt at following Jackie Janczyk, nearly a year ago, he had no intention of being spotted. At least, not until he _wanted_ to be spotted. 

Dorian glanced over. "Do we stop them now?" 

Klaus shook his head, not taking his eyes off the road or the vehicle they were tailing. "Let's see where they're going first." 

  
**Got a Ticket For An Airplane**

Victor sat shoulder to shoulder with Mac, drawing precious strength from the warmth of the lean body that pressed against the length of his side. The two men guarding them sat opposite them in the cramped back of the van, guns never wavering. de Venard might be a fool, but he hired competent people. They'd been in tight spots before, but this one looked like it could be the _last_ one. 

"Trouble." 

Both Mac and Victor looked towards the driver, although the gunmen didn't even flinch. 

"What?" one of them asked. 

"I think we're being followed." 

The tension in the van immediately skyrocketed. "You sure?" 

There was a hesitation. "I... I don't know. This car's been behind us for a while now, but if it's a tail the driver knows what he's doing." The man shrugged. "It's not like we're the only cars on the road. It might be just my imagination. And it's a little tough to tell at night." 

Victor avoided looking at Mac. He didn't want to get his own hopes up, but his instincts were saying that it was Dorian and Klaus. They might actually have a chance... 

"What do you want me to do?" the driver asked. "The next turnoff is the one to the airfield." 

"You still see that car?" 

There was a pause. "No." 

"Take it, but keep an eye on the rearview mirror. Let me know if you see _anything_." 

"Right." 

* * *

"Klaus, darling, you missed the turnoff." 

Klaus glared at him. Dorian should really know better than that. "If I take it, there's no way that they can miss me." 

"But we don't know where they're going if we don't follow them." 

Klaus growled, but was too busy looking for another exit to really be able to really let loose. "There was a sign for a small airfield," he pointed out, annoyed that Dorian hadn't noticed. 

"They're going to fly the boys out," Dorian said, finally getting it. 

"Obviously." Up ahead, he saw another turnoff with an airfield sign. Ignoring the blaring horns of the drivers he cut off, Klaus wrenched the wheel to get the car to the exit in time. 

As soon as they were off the main thoroughfare, the road narrowed. Without the lights of the other cars, combined with the thick trees on either side of the road, it was nearly pitch black. Klaus slowed down, paying more attention to the road. He didn't dare turn off the headlights, but he also didn't want to give their presence away. 

When the trees started to thin out, and he saw the lights of the airfield up ahead, Klaus pulled to a stop and turned off the car. "We'll go on foot from here," he said, pulling his gun from its holster. Even though he knew it was in perfect order, he still checked it again. It was a ritual that helped to focus his mind. A comfort. 

He glanced over at Dorian and frowned. "Cover your hair," he snapped. "It's too bright." 

Dorian grinned, and brushed it back with one hand. "What, darling? Don't you like it?" 

"Whether or not I like it is irrelevant. It's night, it's dark and your hair is too bright." 

Dorian stepped closer. "But do you like it?" 

"Dorian..." 

"Just answer the question, Klaus." 

Klaus's jaw clenched and his free hand curled into a fist. Why did Dorian always choose these moments to push? "Fine," he said in a tight tone. "I do like your hair. Satisfied?" 

And he did. Dorian's hair was almost a complete opposite of his own. Thick and generously curled, where Klaus's was dead straight and fairly thin. Klaus's hair was a dark, almost flat, brown while Dorian's was a cascade of bright gold in a thousand shades. Over the years, Klaus had heard various poison-tongued upper-class types speculate on what bottle Dorian's hair color came from, but Klaus knew the truth: Dorian's hair was all-natural, in length, curl and color. 

Dorian's smile went blinding. "Thank you, darling," he said, and leaned in to quickly kiss Klaus. Before the man could snap at him again, Dorian pulled a dark cap from his pocket and tucked his hair up under it. Almost immediately, he seemed to dim and disappear into the backdrop of darker trees. Klaus nodded. 

"Let's go." 

* * *

The van had been parked for a while when one of the guards glanced at his watch. "Plane should be here in five more minutes," he announced. 

The guy who was obviously in charge nodded. "All right, boys," he said, waving his gun towards Victor and Mac. "Out of the van, and keep your hands where I can see them." 

Mac glanced at Vic, and they both shrugged. They shuffled over to the back door of the van and hopped out, Vic still keeping a hold of his bag. Mac wasn't sure why his partner was hanging onto it so tightly. After all, it didn't look like it was going to be of any use. 

The head goon obviously disagreed. "Drop the bag," he growled. "Someone get some rope to tie these two up. I don't want any trouble from them." 

Mac held his hands up, the picture of innocence. "C'mon," he said. "Do you _really_ need to do that?" 

"Yes. I do." 

"We haven't caused trouble so far," Vic pointed out, picking up on Mac's lead. 

"I. Don't. Care. The boss might be stupid, but I'm not." He turned and glanced around. "Where the hell's that rope?" 

"Right here." 

The man turned quickly at the unfamiliar—at least to him—voice, and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun that probably looked as big as a canon from his point of view. Mac chuckled. 

"Geez, what took you so long?" 

Klaus glared at him. "If you aren't happy with the service, we could always leave you here." 

"No, that's fine," Vic said quickly. Mac struggled, Vic's hand clamped over his mouth. "Where's Eroica?" 

"Over here." 

Dorian came around the corner of the van, two men held at gun point. At this point, Mac relieved the leader of his gun. The other two were unarmed, and their guns were tucked into the waist of Dorian's slacks. He hoped that the man had put the safeties back on, or he was risking a part of his anatomy that he was no doubt fond of. 

As he approached, Mac caught a glance of the driver, still in the van, starting to open the door. "Look out!" he shouted as the door slammed into Dorian's shoulder. 

The blond dropped to the ground with an undignified grunt. Vic tackled the man's two prisoners before they could make a run for it, and Mac shot the driver. The man went down and stayed down. Mac hadn't been inclined to take any chances. 

He turned to the tangle on the ground next. Vic didn't seem hurt, so he kept his gun on the other two while Vic got to his feet. Dorian handed him the two guns he'd taken from the goons, and they were all armed now. 

"Well, that was exciting," Dorian said, pulling off the dark cap he was wearing. "Shall we go?" 

"No," Vic said. "They were sending a plane to take us someplace. I'd like to know where." 

Mac frowned. "What are you suggesting?" 

Vic grinned at him. "Well, I've never hijacked a plane before. Have you?" 

"You have got to be joking," Klaus said. 

"Nah," Mac said, although his initial reaction had been the same. But once he thought about it... "After all, if we weren't just going to be dumped in the Mediterranean or something, the pilot is going to have to know where we're going." 

"We don't know how many people will be _on_ that plane," Klaus pointed out. 

Vic shrugged. "We're four heavily armed men, and we have the element of surprise on our side. Do you have any better ideas?" 

"Didn't you find _anything_ in de Venard's house?" 

Vic picked up his bag from where he'd dropped it. He pulled the disk copier from it. "Files from five unlabeled diskettes, with no guarantee that it's related to New World. And they've been warned. This is our best chance of getting to them." 

"He's right, darling," Dorian said from where he was finishing tying up de Venard's goons with the rope that they'd planned to use on Mac and Vic. Mac glared at them, suppressing the urge to kick them where it would hurt most. It had been a long night, and he had some hostility work out. 

Instead, he restrained himself. "It's our best chance," he echoed. 

Klaus grimaced, then sighed. "We better get ready, then. I can hear a plane." 

* * *

In the end, it was easier than expected. They set up, and were ready when the plane landed. 

The door opened downwards to become a stairway. Klaus was instantly up the stairs and holding a gun on the man there, while Victor headed for the cockpit to keep the pilot from radioing a warning. Before the woman could reach for the radio, his gun barrel was pressed directly behind her ear. 

"You really don't want to do that," he said quietly. She let her hands drop. "Now, how about you tell me where you were going to deliver us." 

The woman didn't answer. She just kept staring straight ahead. Victor pressed the gun a little harder against her skull and made a show of cocking the gun. He didn't think he'd really be able to kill her in cold blood, but his act must have been good enough. 

"Romania," she blurted out. 

Victor smiled. "Well, we're still _going_ to Romania, then," he said. "The circumstances are just going to be a little different than expected." 

"And if I refuse?" 

"My dear," came Dorian's voice from the cockpit door. "You're not the only one here who can fly a plane. I'm sure that there's enough information in the plane's systems to tell us where exactly we're going. Come to think of it, we don't really need you, do we?" 

Dorian's smile went feral, and for a moment Victor actually bought the act. Then, when the pilot flinched and looked away, Dorian gave him a small wink. 

"The landing field has hidden traps," she said hurriedly. "If you don't know where they are, you will kill yourselves." 

"And you. We certainly aren't going to leave you here." 

She gulped. "Fine. I'll do it." 

Dorian's smile turned genuine now, and Victor grinned as well. "Smart move," he told her. 

While Dorian guarded the pilot and co-pilot, Klaus, Victor and Mac drove the rental car and the van into the trees, out of sight of a casual search, and made sure that de Venard's goons weren't going to get loose any time soon. They would, eventually, but with any luck, it would be too late to warn anyone about what was going on. They were obviously supposed to be coming with them as guards, so with any luck, their disappearance wouldn't be noticed prematurely. 

They grabbed the bags from the rental, sealed up the plane, and took off. 

Since Dorian could fly a plane, he stayed in the cockpit with the pilot as co-pilot and guard. In the back, the others started planning. 

Victor grinned when he saw that Klaus and Dorian had grabbed his laptop from the rental car he and Mac had been using before de Venard's men had found it. He grabbed the appropriate cables from the bag and hooked up the disk-copier to the laptop. 

"The files are encrypted," he said after a moment. "We may have hit paydirt." 

Klaus frowned. "That doesn't help us if we can't _de_ crypt them," he pointed out. 

Victor grinned. "Don't be so negative. This baby has the best decryption software around loaded." 

"I've seen decryption software. It doesn't do much good unless the files are using simple algorithms or old standards." 

"That's because you've been using commercial and government programs," Mac said from the wet bar, where he was pouring everyone a small drink. Klaus shook his head when offered a glass. Mac shrugged, and tossed back his, draining the glass. He handed the other to Victor, who was focussed on the screen. He typed in a few more commands, then smiled in satisfaction. 

"We, on the other hand, have the best decryption software designed by the Agency. The Agency employs on the best." 

"And the craziest," Mac muttered to himself, no doubt remembering the brilliant but unbalanced researcher, Nathan. 

Mac leaned over the back of his seat, and Victor grinned up at him. His adrenaline was running high, and a thought occurred to him. 

"This'll take a while," he told Klaus. "Maybe half an hour. Can you watch the bozo here?" he asked, indicating the co-pilot who was tied and gagged in one of the over-stuffed seats. Traveling on a private corporate jet obviously had its benefits. 

"Sure. Why?" 

"I need to do something." 

Klaus looked puzzled, but Victor didn't stop to enlighten him. He'd figure it out, soon enough. 

Victor got to his feet and headed for the bathroom. The plane had one that was only slightly more spacious than the ones on commercial jets. 

He relieved himself, and was washing his hands when the expected knock came. He opened the door and let Mac slip into the washroom. It was a tight fit, but they managed, especially once Victor hopped up to sit on the edge of the tiny counter surrounding the stainless steel sink. 

"Bullets flying, huh?" Mac said. 

"Hmmm..." Victor purred. "Want to join the mile-high club with me?" 

Mac grinned. "What do you think?" he asked, rubbing up against Victor. 

Victor reached over to cup Mac's cheek, his thumb rubbing gently across the purple bruise forming there from when de Venard had hit him. He followed his thumb with his lips, brushing gentle kisses over the cheekbone until Mac turned his head to catch his mouth in a deep kiss. 

Immediately, all signs of gentleness disappeared. Victor let loose, devouring his lover's mouth hungrily. Somehow, after a dangerous run-in like this, he wanted to fuck. Hard and dirty. Love-making was saved for later. 

He fumbled at Mac's pants, pleased to find that the younger man was as hard as he was. He reached inside and started stroking, while Mac's long fingers undid his own pants. 

A hard shove pushed Mac against the wall, barely leaving enough room for Victor to drop to his knees in front of him. Not bothering to tease his lover, he swallowed Mac's cock whole, working up all the saliva he could. While he did that, he worked his pants and underwear down over his hips. 

Free of the fabric, his cock almost slapped against his stomach, leaking with excitement. Ignoring Mac's quiet groan of protest, Victor released his cock and looked up. 

Mac pulled him to his feet, and they indulged in a brief, but even more heated kiss. Then Victor turned around and bent over the counter, his ass presented to Mac. In the mirror, he could see Mac's face, eyes glazed and mouth open as he panted. Mac stepped closer, using his hands to spread Victor's ass-cheeks apart. 

"Now!" Victor hissed, his eyes staying focussed on the mirror. 

Immediately, he felt Mac press in. More than three years of experience let him relax and take Mac in one thrust, even with only spit as lubricant. In fact, he preferred it that way; it let him feel it _all_. 

Mac's mouth fastened onto the side of his neck, and their eyes met in the mirror. Mac made a small sound, like a growl, then slowly pulled out until just the head of his cock was still inside of Victor's ass. 

Then he slammed forward, and they both shouted, not bothering to keep quiet for the people outside. The moment was all that existed. Again and again, Mac slammed into him, hard and perfect. Victor's head fell back, but he kept his gaze glued to Mac's through the mirror. 

His hands were braced against the counter, trying to keep him from being slammed into it. He desperately wanted his cock touched, but instead Mac had wrapped both of his arms around Victor's chest. Victor was going to chance moving one hand down, when Mac's growl stopped him. 

"Don't," was all the man said. Instead, he adjusted his angle of entry slightly, and suddenly every thrust was hitting Victor's prostate directly. 

Fireworks started going off. His eyes started to drift shut, but again Mac stopped him. "Watch," he said. 

So he kept his eyes open. The look on Mac's face was almost enough to set him off by itself. That, combined with the hard movements inside him, was too much to resist, and he felt his blood start to boil. 

"Maaaaaaaac!" he bellowed, and his orgasm exploded. Without being touched, his cock started shooting off volleys so strongly that the first two actually hit the mirror, then dripped down the surface, leaving milky smears behind. 

Mac's teeth clamped down hard on his neck again, and he shot deep inside Victor, only just barely more quiet. 

They both slumped forward, breathing heavily, and stayed that way for a few minutes until Mac had softened enough for Victor's body to expel him. 

Without a word, they washed and tidied up, although Victor decided to be perverse and leave the semen stains on the mirror. 

Before Mac opened the door, Victor twisted around and caught him for a slow, gentle kiss. 

"I love you," he said quietly. Mac's eyes practically glowed. 

"I love you too." 

They opened the door and headed out to find out what the computer files would reveal. 

  
**Welcome to Vampire Country**

Mac closed the washroom door behind himself, shutting away the heavy smell of sex that would be lingering in the small space for a long time to come, then followed Vic back out to the sitting area. 

When they got there, Mac was amused to see that Klaus was sitting with his back to the washroom. As he came past the man, he could see that Klaus's jaw was clenched tightly, and that he was staring at the wall behind the prisoner with a very determined blank stare. 

As for the prisoner, the co-pilot was looking rather green. Mac grinned, and patted the man on the shoulder as he passed him. He barely restrained his snicker when the man flinched away from the touch. Obviously the washroom's sound-proofing had been as ineffective as he had expected. 

While Vic headed for the laptop to see if it had finished decoding the files, Mac stuck his head into the cockpit to see how blondie and the pilot were doing. 

"How are we doing?" he asked. 

"Another twenty minutes, Mac dear," Dorian said, looking up with a smile. He'd managed to find a pilot's cap someplace, and amazingly it didn't clash with the all-black outfit he was wearing. "Did you two enjoy yourselves?" The pilot was blushing bright red, her eyes fixed on the controls. 

"Wow!" Mac said, his grin getting even wider. "You could hear us all the way up here? I'm impressed. Vic doesn't usually get _that_ loud." 

"Hmm? You weren't overly quiet yourself, dear," Dorian said. His smile was both wistful and faintly lecherous. 

Mac just grinned back. He was feeling too damned good to care if the whole world had heard him. Besides, he hadn't held back in the sound department deliberately. There was just something about the uptight Klaus that made him want to yank the man's chain. 

"Here we go!" 

Vic's voice pulled him back into business mode, and Mac went to rejoin him and Klaus. 

Vic was hunched over his laptop, doing the two-fingered hunt-and-peck at a furious pace. Mac often asked Vic why he didn't take a touch-typing course, considering how much time the job kept him on a computer, but Vic always claimed that he typed faster this way than he would using the standard touch-typing methods. 

"So what are the files?" he asked eagerly. 

"Financial accounts." 

Mac's face fell. "Is that all?" he asked, more than a little disappointed. 

"What did you expect? Complete details on New World's plans?" 

Mac grinned. "Well, that would have been nice. So what do these accounts tell you?" 

Vic typed a little more. Mac peered over his shoulder as he funneled the information from the files into an analysis and spreadsheet program that organized the records according to destination, source and date. 

After a moment, the results started showing themselves as charts and tables. Mac's eyes narrowed as he read through them. He'd never much liked the financial aspects of running a small company, but he'd learned them. After all, it wouldn't have been fair to make Vic take care of _all_ the bookkeeping for their security firm. 

"We've got major payments to companies that supply medical and laboratory equipment. More payments to pharmaceutical companies." 

"Does it say where the equipment was shipped to?" Klaus asked. 

"Nope," Vic said. "However, there are also records of payments to construction firms in four different countries. One of them _is_ in Romania, so I would say that we're on the right track." 

Mac reached past Vic and brought up the next screen of information. "Oh, _very_ interesting," he said. 

"What?" Klaus said suspiciously. 

"Records of _incoming_ accounts. Looks like Vince was one of the major funnels for donations, and he kept detailed records of those too. With names, even. Not very smart, Vince," he added under his breath. 

"Let me see," Klaus demanded, already reaching for the laptop. 

"Maybe he was planning on blackmailing members," Vic said in a speculative tone. 

"Or maybe he was just covering his butt in case he was arrested. After all, this sort of information that might get him a lighter sentence." 

"If it didn't get him killed first." 

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by an impressive string of invective mostly comprised of—but not limited to—German. They looked up in surprise at Klaus, who was rapidly turning red. 

"Klaus, darling, are you all right?" Dorian called through the open cockpit door. 

"I take it that you recognize a name or two?" Vic asked mildly. 

The response was another string of curses, but Klaus calmed himself rapidly. "For one thing," he finally said, "I found out why my superiors didn't want me to continue investigating New World." 

"Oh?" 

"There are several large donations noted from the Contaro Corporation." 

Mac rolled his eyes, wishing that the man would get to the point. "And?" he said, pointedly. 

"My immediate superior reports to Joseph Contaro. His family runs the Contaro Corporation." 

Vic hissed at that. "Not good," he muttered to himself. "Not good at all." 

Maybe it was that they'd been together for all these years, or maybe it was just the training from the Agency and the Tangs, but Mac picked up on what Vic was talking about immediately. 

"If they've got people inside Interpol, then we are screwed. We can't contact _any_ of the appropriate authorities," he said, just in case Klaus or Dorian had missed the obvious. 

"So the question is, now what?" 

"Well, we better decide fast," Dorian called from the cockpit, "because we've got ten minutes until we reach the landing field." 

Mac started thinking fast. "We can't call Interpol, and probably not NATO either. They'd be fools not to have people scattered throughout the Romanian government, military and police forces." 

"For all we know, they've got a private army," Vic added. 

"We could turn around and leave. Come back later when we are better organized," Klaus suggested. 

Vic shook his head. "No good. They know we were captured, so they'll know we escaped. And unless we kill these two," he said with a nod towards the co-pilot, "they'll know we have these files. We'd be too busy running for our lives to be able to do anything about stopping them. No. We face them now or not at all." 

Klaus gave a jerky nod. "Agreed. The question is, what _do_ we do?" 

Vic shrugged, but Mac noticed that he was covertly typing a string of commands into the laptop. "Good question. We could always call in Dorian's people." 

"Victor, while the boys are very good at break-ins, I don't think they would be much use in this case." 

"How about the Agency?" Klaus asked. 

Vic shook his head. "I'm not sure how safe that would be either. After all, we know that several of the scientists associated with New World were also with the Agency at one point. We don't know that they don't _still_ have people there. No. I think we may be on our own." 

"We're also there, boys." 

The radio in the cockpit crackled to life, and the pilot looked over at Dorian. "Do I answer?" she asked in slightly sarcastic tone. "Or would you like me to circle the field a few times while you make up your minds." 

The woman flinched as Mac growled, and went for his gun. Vic grabbed his arm before he could pull it out, though. 

"What language?" Vic asked. 

"Russian," was the sullen reply. Mac frowned. Why Russian, of all languages? Romanians usually used German or Romanian, if he remembered correctly. Besides, most pilots used English these days. 

Vic glanced around. "I speak Russian," Klaus said, picking up on the obvious question. 

"Good. Make sure she doesn't give us away." 

Vic nodded to the woman, and she started talking with whoever was in the tower. The conversation was short and to the point, according to Klaus. She confirmed that she had the two prisoners on board, and received permission to land. 

Strangely enough, she didn't use the paved landing strip. Instead, she used a side-strip that was unpaved, but very even, dirt. 

"Why?" Vic asked quietly. 

She shot him a derisive glance. "The paved strip is a trap. It's used for large deliveries, but is mined the rest of the time." 

Mac shuddered, not wanting to imagine the results if she had tried to land on a mined landing strip. It wasn't a pretty picture. 

"So now what?" he asked. 

Klaus headed for the plane's hatch and started unsealing it. "We take to the hills, I'd say. We can leave these two someplace safe while we scout out the territory." 

"Or you will put your hands over your heads and exit one at a time." 

All four froze, and Mac's eyes immediately started searching for the hidden speakers. 

"What the..." Klaus started to sputter. 

"Really, Herr von dem Eberbach. Did you _really_ think that we would not monitor our planes? Especially one sent to collect two very special prisoners?" 

Mac swore under his breath. Back during their days with the Agency, he wouldn't have been surprised. Hell, he would have _expected_ monitoring. More than three years as an independent had dulled some of his instincts, it seemed. 

Vic didn't look surprised though, he noticed. Instead, his partner just looked resigned. Mac suddenly realized that Vic must have been expecting this. He just hoped that the other man had some sort of plan in mind, since he was coming up blank. 

"Open the hatch, gentlemen." 

Klaus looked back. There was a moment of confusion, then Vic gestured for him to go ahead. Klaus opened the hatch, and let it swing downwards to form the steps. 

"Now, throw your weapons out." 

Mac sighed, and tossed out his confiscated gun. Vic, Klaus and Dorian did the same. Something was bugging him, though. There was something familiar about the voice they were hearing. Something _very_ familiar. 

"Good boys," the voice said mockingly. "Now, hand on your heads, and exit the plane one at a time." 

Through the hatch, Mac could see two jeeps pulling up, armed men in each. Mac leaned over and gave Vic a brief but heated kiss. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dorian do the same to Klaus, and was a little surprised that the other man didn't pull away. 

Then Mac placed his hands on the top of his head and walked down the steps. His balance wavered for a moment, and he wondered if the guards would shoot him if he lost his balance and dropped his arms to break his fall. 

Looking at the hard expressions on the men's faces, he decided not to risk it. 

Once they were all down the steps, the were separated into the two jeeps. Mac found himself sitting next to Klaus, staring down the barrel of a rifle. Vic and Dorian were in the other jeep. 

The driver spoke into some sort of communicator—in Russian, Mac figured, even though he couldn't understand what was being said—then put the jeep into drive. The sudden motion made him sway, but Mac kept his hands on his head, more from force of will than anything else. 

Luckily, the drive moved to a paved road, and the jostling disappeared, letting Mac take a good look at their surroundings. 

The land around the airfield was reasonably flat, but up ahead he could see mountains reaching skyward, gleaming in the early morning light. They weren't as impressive as the Alps, but they were still pretty damn high. 

"Where are we, anyway?" he whispered to Klaus. 

"Somewhere not too far south of Suceava, I would say," Klaus whispered back. "Those are the Caparthian Mountains. Ukraine is north of us, and Moldova is to the east." 

Mac wracked his brain for historical details. "Both former parts of the Soviet Union," he finally said. 

"Yes." 

"Once led by Lenin." 

"Yes." 

"And New World wanted his body. Why?" 

"Quiet!" The guard shoved the end of his rifle right at Mac's nose, and his eyes practically crossed keeping on it. Mac shut up. 

Besides, it wasn't like he really expected an answer to his last question. Vic had suggested that New World wanted to clone Lenin as part of some bigger plan, but Mac wasn't sure that he really wanted to accept that theory. It had some implications that he really didn't want to think about. 

The jeep started to slow down as the road became narrow and winding. Up ahead, Mac could see what looked like a medieval castle on the side of the mountain. It looked grim and foreboding. In fact, it looked like something out of an old black and white horror movie. They were in the right part of the world for it too. 

By the time they pulled into the central courtyard of the structure, the morning sun was starting to warm things up. However, it was still low enough on the horizon that the courtyard was completely in shadow. Now that they were at the building, Mac could see that despite its appearance, the stone structure was new. It had all the rough edges that an authentic period building would have, but it was too clean and there was no wear and tear from long use. 

The jeep pulled to a stop, and they all climbed down awkwardly. More guards appeared, and led them up the wide steps to the main door. 

"Think they buy them by the gross?" Mac asked Vic loudly, nodding towards the gunmen. Vic didn't answer, but he did snicker. Mac's lips quirked into a smile, and Dorian chuckled quietly. Only Klaus's expression didn't change. 

"Quiet," one of the gunman ordered, and Mac wondered for a moment if it was the same one who'd been in the jeep with him and Klaus. Come to think of it, all of their guards looked similar, as if from the same family. In fact, very similar... 

Maybe that joke about buying them by the gross wasn't as far-fetched as he'd thought. 

Inside, they were led to a set of double doors that opened in front of them. After a wave of a gun in their direction, the four men walked through, and the doors closed behind them with a disturbing sound of finality. 

Across the large room, a man stood next to a bar, pouring himself a drink. "Oh, put your hands down already," he said, and Mac let his arms fall to his side with a grateful sigh. "And don't bother trying to overpower me, or anything stupid like that. The room is sealed, and monitored. One hostile move from any of you, and it will be flooded with gas before you could take five steps." 

Gas. Why did that ring bells, Mac asked himself. Then the man turned towards them, and the floor seemed to drop from under his feet. 

"The Head," he and Vic said in unison, and Mac groaned. This was _not_ good. 

  
**Plans Revealed**

Victor groaned as he sank into one of the ornate chairs that decorated the room. They were in _big_ trouble here. 

If this were a genuine castle, this would probably be some sort of receiving room, designed to awe the visitors and put them at a disadvantage. Working as freelance security consultants, he and Mac had found themselves in many such rooms, so this one didn't overawe him. A quick glance at the others showed that they were equally unaffected. By their surroundings, at least 

"Brandy?" the man who had been Head of the Agency before he'd disappeared asked, gesturing with a fine cut-crystal decanter. A balloon glass, already filled, was cradled in his other hand. 

They all declined, so he put the decanter down then settled into the chair closest to him. Victor noted that the seat had a slightly higher seat than any of the others in the room. A small footstool prevented the person seated in it from being made to look foolish by his feet hanging above the ground, and the fancy carving and touches of gold gilt were obviously intended to make the viewer think of a throne. 

If nothing else, the man had a good grasp of psychology it seemed. 

"I must say, I was not very surprised when you managed to take over the plane. de Venard is a fool," he said with a snarl. "One that has just reached the end of his usefulness. I don't," he added with a cold smile, "keep fools around for long. In fact, he will have been taken care of by now." 

Victor felt a chill run through him, realizing that the man had so casually ordered an employee murdered. On the other hand, it had been the standard operating procedure of the Agency back when this man still ran it. The Director—now the actual Head—had changed that. Fools were given boring work in isolated areas of the world. Only the truly dangerous, or traitorous, were actually disposed of in a more permanent fashion. 

"Anyway," the man continued, "I've been following your career since the two of you left the Agency. A most impressive rise in reputation. And as for Mr. Red Gloria and Herr Eberbach, I keep track of anyone who could be either useful to me or a danger. That is," he said after taking a sip of his brandy, "why I chose Mr. Ramsey and Mr. Red Gloria for the commission some months ago." 

"The body," Mac said with obvious distaste. "Why you would want to..." 

The Head laughed, an not terribly pleasant sound. "I'm sure that between the four of you, you've figured out why we wanted Lenin's corpse." 

Mac shook his head. "We figured that you wanted to clone him, but not why. I take it that the man who died at the Agency's Toronto office was a clone too?" 

Victor frowned, then said, "I don't think so, Mac. That one looked... older," he added, staring at the smiling man opposite them. 

"Very good, Mr. Mansfield. Yes, this is our latest success. Not just cloning the body, but cloning the mind as well. I won't get into the details of how, since quite honestly, it sounds like fiction to even me. Suffice it to say, we have discovered the secret of immortality. Clone the body and transfer the mind." 

"But only for a very select few," Klaus said, speaking up for the first time. "The carrot to keep people loyal." 

"Exactly." 

"And your ultimate goal?" Dorian asked. 

"I'm sure that you can fill in the appropriate clichÈ." 

Victor snorted. "Let me guess: Total world domination." 

"Very good!" 

"So why Lenin?" 

The Head drained his glass and carefully placed it on a table next to him. "Every good revolution requires a leader. Someone charismatic. Someone people will trust. And since we plan to start with the former Soviet republics, then spread outwards..." 

Mac laughed. "What, you're going to say 'Here's Lenin, come back to life, follow him'? Give me a break." 

That brought a flash of anger to the other man's face. "Don't be a fool," he said. "Besides, he wouldn't _be_ Lenin. After all, there's no mind to transfer." The Head visibly forced himself to relax. "No. The charisma will be trained back into him, along with the knowledge he will need. However, Lenin is still revered by many; especially the communists. There will be an instinctive response to him, since he will quite literally make people think of a young Lenin. Don't laugh," he admonished. "If you looked into people's minds, you will find that they often choose their leaders based on a subconscious recognition, that the man or woman reminds them of someone they know and trust." 

"So the Bolsheviks come back to power, and they take over the world?" Victor said, chilled by the truth of what the man had said. 

"It failed before," Klaus said in a voice so cold that it almost froze the room. 

The Head chuckled. "Western economies are weaker than they were two decades ago, and in recent years the former Soviet republics have built themselves up financially. With a little help, that is." 

Victor frowned. "How much help?" he asked, remembering what the Director said the fake Head had revealed before his death, that the Agency had been created for a purpose that was now over. 

"You're not a stupid man," the Head said. "I'm sure you can figure it out." 

And he could. Agency assassins taking out obstacles, Agency operations inadvertently helping the outfits that the Head wanted helped. He'd worried about just that sort of thing while he'd been working for the Agency. It was one of the reasons he'd agreed so quickly when Mac had suggested taking the chance to get out. 

"And," the man continued, "we have been preparing since before the fall of the Soviet empire. Men and women have been placed in positions of power, scientists funded in research we wanted pursued." He spread his arms out. "We've come a long way since Dolly the sheep," he said with a laugh. 

"While this all is fascinating," Dorian said smoothly, "why tell _us_? The other clichÈ of the criminal genius telling the hero his entire plan before placing him in a position he can escape from? Or are you simply going to kill us now?" 

The laugh that followed chilled Victor to the bone. "Not quite. I have plans for the four of you. You have skills that are far too valuable, and access to others. No, I don't plan on killing you. Yet." 

"Then what _do_ you plan to do with us?" 

The Head smiled. "I forgot to mention. During the transfer process, we've discovered a way of... reprogramming the mind. All the knowledge is preserved, but the personality is re-shaped to _our_ specifications. The earl is well known in both noble and criminal circles. Herr Eberbach also has connections within sections of NATO where we have not yet gained control. And as for Mr. Mansfield and Mr. Ramsey, well... _They_ have the trust of the new head of the Agency." 

Victor and Mac exchanged glances. They could guess what the man wanted with them. The man had tried to kill the Director before. This time he seemed to be planning to use a different sort of weapon. 

This was not good. Not good at all. 

"Anyway," the Head said, pressing a small button in the arm of his chair. "We can continue this conversation later. The lab isn't quite ready for you yet, so we have prepared guest quarters for you." 

The doors to the room opened, and more of the depressingly similar guards appeared. 

"Pleasant dreams, gentlemen." 

* * *

The room they were put in was not the clichÈ that Dorian had referred to. It was a featureless box with only a single entrance. The walls were white, and the ceiling seemed to glow, providing a steady and bright light. 

Vic promptly dropped on one of the padded benches that ran along two walls. Klaus started pacing, and Dorian... well, Dorian leaned against one wall as if posing for a photo. 

Mac wasn't about to do any of those things. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the lockpick set that conveniently hadn't been taken from him and headed for the door. 

"Don't bother," Vic said. "I'm sure this room is being well-monitored. And besides—" 

Mac slipped a small probe along the edge of the door and was promptly blasted across the room. 

"It's probably booby-trapped," Vic concluded. 

Mac didn't answer. He was too busy trying to get his limbs to work. The door had been rigged to give an massive electrical jolt to anyone trying to break out of the cell. Mac decided that he'd better concentrate on trying to slow his heart-rate and breathing down. 

When Vic helped him to sit up, the touch was almost painful, but he welcomed it. "So what do we do?" he asked, ignoring the plaintive tone in his voice. "Just wait for him to send us off to his collection of Dr. Frankenstein types?" 

Vic helped him to lie down on the bench, then sat down close enough that Mac could rest his head in the other man's lap. 

"There's not a lot else we can do," Vic replied. 

"We have to do _something_!" Mac protested, his body relaxing as Vic's fingers combed through his hair, soothing away the last of the aftershocks. The touch was gentle, and Mac found himself slowly fading into sleep. It had been a long and stressful day even _before_ Vince had caught them breaking into his study. He was out of gas. They _all_ were. 

"We will," Vic assured him. "They have to let us out of this room, sooner or later. When that time comes, we'll be ready." 

* * *

Nearly ten hours passed before the door opened again. The mechanism worked so silently that the four sleeping men didn't wake until jabbed with rifle barrels. 

Across the room, Ramsey muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Five more minutes, Vic." The response was a shove so hard that he was knocked to the floor. Klaus rolled his eyes in exasperation. Unlike Ramsey, he had been awake the moment the moment the guards had made their presence known. 

The benches had been narrow and hard, despite the thin pads, but Klaus prided himself on being to sleep anywhere. The only awkwardness had been the fact that they weren't exactly long enough for all four men to stretch out. Mansfield and Ramsey had managed to curl up tightly enough to both fit on the bench against the longer wall, while Klaus had slept sitting up against the wall at the end of the other span, allowing Dorian to stretch out at his feet. The floor had been checked and found too hard for anyone to be able to sleep on. 

Actually, Klaus hadn't intended to sleep. He was going to keep watch over the other three, but... Klaus tested his reflections and found to his chagrin that he had been drugged. Their hosts had probably pumped a mild sedative through the invisible air vents, putting them all to sleep. However, it had worn off enough that Klaus was reasonably alert. 

The guards gestured for them to move out of the room, and they found four more of their kind waiting there; all armed, all silent. If the guard in the jeep the day before hadn't spoken, Klaus would be wondering if they could. 

A loud growl echoed in the silence. 

"What?" Ramsey said defensively. "I haven't eaten in nearly a day. Do you think that the condemned will at least get a last meal?" he asked with an impish grin. Dorian and Mansfield both snickered, and Klaus even had to hide a thin smile. It wasn't really that funny, but the stress of what had been happening to them since the bombs had gone off—if not longer than that—had built to the point where anything would be funny. 

They were lead down the hallway to a large elevator. When it started up, Klaus noted that they were going down. 

When it came to a stop, he knew that they had to be deep inside the mountain. When the elevator doors opened, they found themselves in a large, very modern laboratory. 

"Ah, good of you to join us." 

The man they knew only as The Head was coming towards them. He wore a white lab coat and a small smile. 

"We didn't exactly have a choice," Mansfield pointed out again. 

"Any chance of breakfast? Or would it be dinner?" Ramsey asked, rubbing at his stomach. 

"I'm afraid not," the man replied. "However, I thought you might like a tour of the facilities before we get started." 

Mansfield glanced over, and they all shrugged. Klaus wasn't sure that he _really_ wanted to see the place, but anything that delayed the apparently inevitable was welcome. 

The tour was surreal. The equipment looked like something from a bad science fiction movie, with lots of polished steel and screens full of meaningless data. Perhaps it wouldn't be so meaningless if he were a geneticist, but Klaus didn't care. He noted with instincts born of long experience that the elevator looked to be the only exit for the level, and while there were other men and women wandering around looking busy, none were armed and they never came close. The only firearms in sight were the ones carried by their guards. 

Moving into the next room, they were presented with giant tubes full of strangely colored bubbling liquid. Each contained human figures at various stages of development, from fetus to full-grown. Klaus noted with a sense of foreboding that there were four unoccupied tubes at the end of the room, and teams in white bent over figures obviously just removed from those tubes. 

"And here is what will be our grandest success," the Head said proudly, leading them to a tube set apart from the rest. 

The figure inside appeared to be about ten years old, although Klaus could already see the resemblance to Lenin. He shuddered in an instinctive reaction. 

"We'll be removing him in a few days time," the Head continued smoothly. 

"Um... Isn't he a little young for what you're planning?" Ramsey asked from his position right next to his partner. 

"For the moment," was the response. "We are not programming him from scratch, you see. We've found that there are... drawbacks to that. No, we will implant basic memories now, and then train him ourselves." 

"That's gonna take a while, you know." 

The man laughed. "Mr. Ramsey, we have always planned for the long-term in New World. We have been working towards our goals for more than twenty years, since we realized that Communism was going to fall. Based on that, a few more years is nothing." 

"The thing _I_ don't understand is why Communism?" Mansfield broke it. "Don't tell me you actually _believe_ in it." 

The other man snorted in derision. "Of course not. However, it is a system that encourages blind obedience, no matter _what_ Karl Marx may have intended. Look at China! Communism has been successful on a small scale. We simply intend to expand it. Everyone in the world equal!" 

"And following _you_ ," Klaus snarled, held back only by a gentle hand on his arm. 

"Not quite, Herr Eberbach," the man said smoothly. "I intend to control matters from behind the curtain, you might say. People like him," he said, nodding towards the young figure of Lenin floating in its artificial womb, "are the ones who will lead, while I will direct." 

"And that way, no one will notice when you're still around after fifty years or a hundred." 

"Very good Mr. Mansfield. You have a good grasp of reality. I shall enjoy discussing this with you further." 

"I thought we weren't long for this world," Mansfield replied with a slightly bitter smile. 

"Not quite. You see, we will begin the cloning process today, however the new body must mature for six months before the mind can be transferred. About the same age as our young leader-to-be here. Until then, you will be carefully guarded to ensure you stay relatively unharmed. And then... Well, your replacement will still have your mind. Just the loyalties will be reprogrammed." 

Klaus shuddered, and he could see the others doing the same. The idea of knowing exactly who and what he was, but being unable to do anything about it, was revolting. 

"Now," the man said, gesturing towards the doorway. "We can get started." 

Deciding that he would rather take his chances in a fight before he would submit to what the man planned, Klaus tensed himself, preparing to attack the nearest guard. From the reactions of his companions, he knew he was not alone in his plans. He prepared to dive to the side as the came through the doorway... 

When there was a dull thud, the lights flickered and a siren began to wail. 

  
**The Chase**

Mac was ready to take out goon number one as they moved into the lab. To someone who wasn't a professional, he would look completely relaxed. The others were just as 'relaxed'. He wasn't sure what they were going to do once they _had_ taken out the goons, though. All he knew was that like hell was he going to be turned into Dr. Frankenstein's latest experiment. 

In fact, he was so ready that he almost didn't notice the faint rumble of an explosion. All he knew was that the goons blinked and he moved. 

A kick to the solar-plexus took out goon one, and Mac grabbed his gun as he went down. A shot took out goon two. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Klaus, Vic and Dorian take out the rest of the goon squad. In the background he heard screams from the lab staff as the red lights started flashing and the sirens started wailing. 

"Now what?" he said, turning to Vic. 

"Elevators are a bad idea," his partner replied, and another explosion seconded the statement. "We'd be sitting ducks. Our best bet is to grab the Head and use him as a hostage." 

Mac grinned wolf-like. That was a plan he could get into. He turned and headed back into the decanting room. The technicians who'd been working on the latest goon-clone ran past him, but he ignored them. The Head wasn't with them. 

He glanced around the room suspiciously. The red flashing lights gave everything an eerie appearance that went nicely with the periodic boom and shudder from far above. Any second now he expected a man in riding breeches and a monocle to jump up and yell "Cut!" 

Nothing. No movie director and no Head. Mac cursed under his breath as he peered down the rows of bubbling tubes. "Guys, hate to say this but he's gone." 

"Impossible," Klaus said, moving into the room after Mac. "He didn't come past us. He _must_ be in here." 

"Well, unless you've got x-ray vision, he isn't here," Mac snapped back at him. 

"There must be a back door," Vic said. 

Mac shrugged. "He had them all over the various Agency headquarters," he said. "So stands to reason he'd have some sort of secret exit here." 

"Yeah, but where?" Vic glanced at the doorway, but none of the lab techs seemed inclined to butt in and the guards were all still out cold or dead. Finally, he shook his head and shut the door. Damn thing looked like it was solid metal, and the tiny window had the distinctive ripple of bullet-proof glass. Vic found the lock and jammed it shut. 

"Okay, folks," he said once he was satisfied that no one was going to be rudely bursting in on them. "Find that door." 

They fanned out, examining walls, ceilings and floors. Mac moved along the rows of giant test-tubes, pushing at them experimentally to see if any of them were sitting on top of tunnel exits or something. 

"Tell me, Vic," he said as he worked his way down a row. "You don't seem surprised about the explosions." 

Vic shrugged. "That's because I'm not," he replied. 

Mac straightened up. "And _why_ aren't you surprised?" he asked, already a little pissed. At the moment, he wasn't in the mood to play 'twenty questions'. 

"Well," Vic said with a grin. "That little laptop of mine was a present from the Director. It's got all the latest bells and whistles. Software, accessories, everything. Including a satellite-signal modem." 

Mac blinked. "There is such a thing?" The only modems he knew of hooked up to phone lines directly. 

"Well, it's new and untested. A new Agency invention. The Director asked me to try it out. It just arrived the day before everything went crazy." 

Mac snorted. "I'd really appreciate knowing about these things, you know." 

Vic grinned. "I thought you _liked_ surprises," he said with a leer. 

"Those kinds, yeah. These kinds, not really. So. What. Did. You. Do. With. It?" he said slowly and clearly. 

"I e-mailed all those files, plus our location to the Director." 

Mac blinked. Of course. How obvious. "And you didn't say anything because..." he prompted 

Vic shrugged. "I got a little suspicious and wondered if we might be monitored. If we were, then saying something might have forced them to move. Keeping quiet gave the Director time to come up with a plan and get here." 

"Good point," Mac said with a sigh. Vic was right. Much as he hated being out of the loop, it was the only thing that would have worked. 

Didn't mean he couldn't punish his partner for not signaling him, though, he thought with a smile. Punishing Vic could be _so_ much fun. He started filing away ideas for later, assuming that there was a later for them. 

"Found it!" 

Dorian's call brought them all running. Blondie had found a door in behind the tube holding the Lenin clone. It was just a section of wall that swung into a concealed space. There wasn't much room; they would have to squeeze to get through. One by one they did so, their confiscated guns held ready. Klaus, Dorian, Vic, then Mac last after a quick look around. He shoved the wall section shut behind them. 

They were in a small space carved into the mountain. Rough-cut stone surrounded them, except for the small section of wall that led back to the lab facilities. In the middle of the space was a spiral staircase that led up. Overhead, Mac could see small lights at regular intervals, giving enough light to see. Barely. 

"Great," he said in a disgusted tone, looking up. The top of the staircase was hidden. There was no way to tell how far up it went. Mac wasn't scared of heights, but he was seriously considering making an exception in this case. "There's probably bats," he added, muttering to himself. 

"We'd hear them if there were," Klaus said. Mac glared at the man who was standing there, calmly checking his confiscated gun. Mac was hit with the sudden urge to push the man into a mud-puddle, if he could find one. There was just something about the uptight German that drove him nuts. 

"You realize that there are probably cameras," he said. 

Vic nodded. "Yeah, but hopefully he's too paranoid to let anyone but himself monitor them," he said. There was a muffled thud, and a tiny amount of dust drifted down. "And with any luck he's too busy to notice us." 

Klaus snorted. "Counting on luck is a good way to get killed," he said. 

Vic glared at him. "You got any better ideas?" he snapped back. 

Mac had to fight back the urge to laugh, losing his own annoyance in the process. Place your bets, folks. Clash of the alpha males, right here, right now. "Guys," he said, breaking in before it got nasty. "We don't have time for this right now. Besides," he added, pointing upwards, "at this rate Blondie is going to be at the top before you stop arguing." 

That caught their attention. It was true too. Dorian was already almost the equivalent of two floors up. Klaus snarled something in German, then started taking the stairs two at a time to catch up with the thief. 

Mac shrugged at Vic, and they headed after the other two. 

* * *

There were exits at regular intervals, but they ignored them. Leaving the hidden stairwell while they were still below ground probably wouldn't get them anywhere. If they had known where the facilities control center was, that might have changed their plans, but since they didn't, they kept going. 

Except for Dorian, they were all huffing and puffing by the time they reached the top of the stairwell. Concrete block had replaced the rough stone walls. Hopefully that meant they were above ground level. 

At the very top was a small landing, similar to the dozen or so that they'd passed on the way up, and a door that was ajar, _unlike_ the ones they'd passed on the way up. After glancing at the others, Victor lifted his gun and took point. In the back of his mind a little voice was screaming at him 'who died and made you boss?'. Easy answer was 'how the fuck should I know?'. Based on experience, Klaus probably should have been making the decisions. After all, he'd headed a large team back when he was with NATO Intelligence according to Dorian. So why was even he deferring to Victor in this? 

Maybe because he was the only one making suggestions. Whatever the reason, Victor seemed to be in charge, so he better not screw it up. 

The exit led into a bedroom the like of which he'd never seen. In fact, looking around, he wished he _hadn't_ seen it. The floors were covered in layered oriental rugs of a variety of hues, mostly shades of red. The room was dominated by a large four-poster bed with red velvet drapes. The walls were covered by a variety of oil paintings in heavy gilt frames, with the occasional mirror thrown in to make the walls seem like they went on forever. And to top it all off, the ceiling was painted. 

While that might not seem too bad, the subject matter was... Victor shuddered. The paintings on the walls were of battle-scenes, the gorier the better. And the painted ceiling had to be the _most_ pornographic thing he'd ever had the misfortune to see. He felt dirty just looking at it. Men and women in a variety of positions, with chains and whips being liberally used. Even worse, he recognized many of the... participants. His eyes slid away from a woman with the Director's face being tormented by two men, only to land on another scene of rape where his own face was featured. He looked away before he could register whether he was raper or rapee. 

He looked over and saw Mac looking up with an expression of absolute horror. After a moment, that expression changed to one of fury. "He's dead," the younger man muttered. "I am going to toss him off the highest cliff in the area. This is _sick_!" 

Even Klaus was looking a little green around the gills, Victor noticed, while Dorian was refusing to look up. 

"We have to _find_ him before you can do that," he reminded his partner. 

They moved across the room to the only other exit. At the door, Vic paused and looked back. He shuddered, and promised himself that if they won, before they left he would come back with primer and paint and cover up that ceiling himself. The hanging paintings would make a nice bonfire too, he told himself. 

But first they had to win. 

* * *

Out in the hallway, they could hear the sound of gunfire in the distance. There was no way to tell if it really _was_ the Agency attacking, all they could do was hope. In the meantime, they had a sicko to catch, Mac reminded himself. 

"This way," Klaus said, heading down the hallway away from the sound of gunfire. It was a good guess. After all, the Head wasn't like to run _towards_ the fight, was he? But something looked... off. Mac turned in place, trying to figure out what it was. 

Then he grinned. The curtains of one of the alcoves lining the hallway were moving, ever so slightly. Mac headed for it and pushed the velvet to the side. 

"Guys!" he called, looking up a ladder towards open air and the dark reds of sunset. 

Vic came up behind him, looking over his shoulder. "Good," he said, giving Mac a quick peck on the cheek before brushing past to start climbing the ladder. Mac shoved his gun under his belt—even though it was a little large and awkward for that—and followed his partner. Behind him came Dorian then Klaus. 

Up above, he could hear what sounded suspiciously like a helicopter getting ready to take off, and he cursed and started climbing faster. They were _not_ letting the creep get away. Not this time. 

Vic had reached the top of the chimney-like structure and jumped out, apparently rolling for cover as he went. Mac held his breath as he heard gunfire. 

"Cover to the left!" he heard shouted, and breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll cover you!" 

Mac peeked over the edge. As promised, there was a low wall to the left of the ladder's exit. As Vic opened fire, Mac took a deep breath, popped out and rolled. 

His heart nearly stopped, but he made it in one piece. Then he and Vic laid down covering fire while Dorian and Klaus joined them. 

At the other end of the castle roof, a helicopter was revving up, its rotors spinning faster and faster. They didn't have much time. Either they stopped it now, or they better pray that the attackers below had something capable of shooting it down. But what the hell could they do from this distance? 

"Enough!" Klaus suddenly snarled, and stood up. 

"Are you crazy?" Mac shouted, reaching to grab the man and drag him back behind cover. Already bullets were pinging against the stone wall in front of Klaus, although amazingly, none seemed to come even close to hitting the man. 

Klaus kicked his hand away. As the helicopter lifted off the roof and started away from the mountainside that was behind them, he took careful aim, then fired and kept firing. 

At first it didn't seem to have any effect, although there was no longer any return fire. Then the helicopter started to list to the side, heading over the edge of the roof. Mac gaped for a moment, then followed the others to the edge. He arrived just in time to see the helicopter hit the side of the mountain, just below the castle, and burst into flames. 

"Um... They aren't supposed to do that," he pointed out. Vic shrugged. 

"Who know what they were carrying?" he replied. 

Mac laughed. "Well, I did say I wanted to toss him off a cliff. I guess this is close enough. Nice shooting Klaus," he added grudgingly. Klaus just grunted. 

At that moment, large metal doors that probably led to the _normal_ stairway to the roof flew open, and large numbers of armed men started pouring through. The four men turned around slowly, placed their guns on the ground, then raised their hands above their heads to wait and see who they were dealing with. 

After a moment, the sea of men parted, but instead of Moses, it was for a petite redhead, followed by a taller oriental woman. 

"Hello, boys," the Director said with a grin.

**Reorganization**

So this was the Director he'd heard so much about. If so, she wasn't much to look at. She was definitely the shortest person, male or female, in the room. Long red hair and an attractive face for her age. If Klaus were going to guess, he would say somewhere in her late forties. Maybe even in her fifties. 

But despite her age and lack of height, Klaus had the feeling that he did not want to get on her bad side. 

While the Agency operatives went to retrieve the bodies from the crashed helicopter, the woman led them back into the castle. In a few minutes they found themselves back in the receiving room where they'd met the man who'd planned to use them in his plans of world domination (Klaus still had problems even thinking that without wanting to snort his derision. As if that would work anymore). 

The Director immediately dropped gracefully into the throne-chair that the so-called Head had used that morning. The oriental woman with her stood to the side and behind the chair. Mansfield and Ramsey chose seats, and after glancing at Dorian, Klaus did the same. He was a little angry with himself when he found himself shifting in his seat, and forced himself to sit still, back ramrod straight. The woman had a presence that would put the most intimidating drill-sergeant or Catholic nun to shame. 

"Well, I must say that you did a wonderful job, boys," the woman said with a smile. "We've been trying to track down what the former Head meant when he said that the Agency had served its purpose, but without any luck." 

"I take it you got my e-mail?" Mansfield said, not looking at all uncomfortable. 

The woman nodded. "Actually, you tied with Nathan. He showed up with the information tracing Fry to New World to this castle just as I was reading your e-mail. I simply used an Agency jet to get here, and had the Director for Eastern Europe supply the troops." 

She paused, and frowned. The sight made Klaus shiver, though he hid it well. He hoped. "Or rather, the office for Eastern Europe supplied the troops. The Director balked, so I killed him." 

"What?!" Ramsey exclaimed, sitting up straighter. 

"Oh, relax Mac. Nathan had already linked him to New World. It seems that I have three Directors who are still reporting to _him_ , and have been since I became the new Head," she said. She didn't sound very pleased. "We'll be finding out who else was involved in New World and dealing with them." 

The way she said that made Klaus's blood run cold, but he didn't feel overly sympathetic for the men and women who were going to find themselves facing this woman's wrath. They'd made their choice and would now have to live with it. 

"What about the... um... people downstairs?" Dorian asked. 

The Director favored him with a level gaze. "If you mean the scientists, they will either be recruited or isolated. Their research is a little too sensitive to unleash on the world." 

"And the clones?" Klaus asked, not bothering to hide his distaste. 

"The soldiers will be programmed to something a bit more innocuous. They will not be capable of violence after we're done with them." 

"And the Lenin clone?" 

That brought a moment of silence. Then the woman smiled. "Well, I've always wanted to raise a child. LiAnn and I will take him." 

Klaus's jaw dropped at that, and his was not the only one. Even the oriental, LiAnn, he assumed, looked surprised. "But that's... That's Lenin!" 

Her eyes narrowed. "No, it's a child. Physically he looks to be about ten, and he's a blank slate. Lenin is dead. We'll be returning his body to the Russians, by the way." 

"But..." 

The woman turned a laser-like glare on him. "What would you prefer, Herr Ebberbach? That I simply execute him for the crimes of his forebears? In case you hadn't noticed, we do _not_ hold the children responsible for the crimes of their fathers." 

"But it's a clone, not..." 

"Not a person? Well, I suppose we could get into a long philosophical discussion about that, but there isn't much point, is there? We will be taking the boy with us. End of discussion." 

Almost immediately, the flames in her eyes died down, and she was all smiles again. "I must admit, though, I am quite impressed with the facilities," she said with a wave evidently intended to encompass the castle and it's underground labs. "In fact, I think this would be the perfect place to relocate the Eastern Europe Directorate, don't you, Victor?" 

Mansfield stared back at her, suspicion plain on his face. Then his eyes went wide and he started shaking his head. "Uh-uh, no way. I am not being drafted _again_ ," he protested. The woman just smiled. "Forget it. You can just find yourself another patsy." 

The smile got wider. "But Victor, who else could I trust? Especially after the previous Director turned out to be so... flawed. I need to find three new Directors, and I _know_ I can trust you. I don't trust easy, you know." 

"But..." 

"And you would be able to make sure that something like this never happens again. Come on, Victor. I've been keeping an eye on you. You've developed quite a flair for leadership over the years. Your security firm has taught you organizational skills. And you'll have an assistant as loyal and talented as Dobrinsky was for me." 

"But..." Even to Klaus, the protest sounded weak. 

"We'll discuss the details over dinner," the woman said, pouncing on that weakness. From the expression on Mansfield's face, the battle was already lost and he knew it. 

* * *

A little while later, Mac found Vic back on the roof, leaning over the parapet watching the Agency flunkies cleaning up all traces of the helicopter crash under the floodlights that had been set up. They were so bright that they made the stars fade out. Mac sat down next to the silent man and waited. 

"She can't honestly believe that I'll say yes," Vic finally said, but he sounded defeated. 

"Why not?" Mac asked, amazed that he was actually going to say this. "You _are_ the best person for the job." 

Vic looked up at him, eyes wide and his mouth agape. Mac wanted to kiss him. "You can't be serious!" 

Mac shrugged. "Why not. C'mon Vic, she's right. You're perfect for the job." 

"But we wanted _out_ of the Agency. That was the whole point of coming to Europe in the first place." 

Mac fiddled with his shirt-cuff trying to find a way to put his thoughts into words. "We left the Agency because we never chose to join. The Agency viewed us as disposable. But the Agency has changed. Much as I hate to admit it, she's changed it. And _as_ a Director, you can help change it even more. Less brutal, less controlling. The Agency idea is good. It was just the way it was working." 

Vic shook his head. "You agreed with me when we said no last year." 

"It wasn't right then. There was no way to tell if they really _would_ change. Now... I've kept in contact with LiAnn since then. She's kept me up to date on everything that they've been doing. And you have to admit, they do a lot of good." 

"But what about Thornton & Blake?" Vic said, sounding almost plaintive. "We spent so much time building it." 

Mac shrugged. "C'mon, Vic. It was a way to pay the bills. Think of some of the jerks we've had to deal with. The fun part was always the capers, and nothing says that we can't keep doing _them_. The only difference is that sometimes _we_ can deal with the criminals instead of just handing the evidence over to Interpol." 

Mac could see Vic weakening. "Are you sure?" his lover and partner of more than four years asked. 

Mac leaned over and kissed him lightly. "This is right. Can't you feel it?" 

Vic sighed. "Yeah, I just don't like it." 

Mac laughed delightedly. "Hey, if you liked it, you wouldn't be the right person for the job! C'mon, dinner's waiting." 

Vic stood up and turned to walk to the stairwell. Mac couldn't resist the urge. 

"Hey!" his lover said, turning around, rubbing his rear-end. 

Mac grinned at him. "Just keeping you on your toes," he said, completely unrepentant. "Besides, how can I resist such a gorgeous ass?" 

Vic growled at him, but the grin was peaking through. "Just remember, I'm going to be your boss now." 

"So? Someone's got to keep you humble." Mac snickered, and when Vic made a move in his direction, he was off and running, his laughing partner right behind him. 

Yeah, someone had to keep Vic from being too serious, and he'd always enjoyed that job. 

* * *

Dinner had been excellent, especially considering how quickly it had been prepared, and Dorian had enjoyed himself immensely. The Head of the Agency was quite the formidable woman, and he'd enjoyed flirting with her—partly because of her sense of humor, and partly because of the daggers been glared his way from both Klaus and the lovely LiAnn, who was obviously the older woman's lover as well as a Director in the Agency. 

Victor saying yes hadn't been much of a surprise, and the woman had accepted without showing any signs of triumph. She'd simply said that as soon as the facility was secure and scanned for more hidden passageways, and the computer system was checked for surprises, the files and personnel from the current Eastern Europe office would be transferred over. Victor would be given full control, and permission to dismiss or hire as many people as he felt was necessary. By the end of the dinner, the dear boy was obviously making plans in his head. You could almost see the wheels turning as he and Mac had headed for one of the clean bedrooms. Needless to say, no one was willing to spend the night in the bedroom of their previous host. 

Another bedroom had been found for him and Klaus for the night; they would be flying back to Berlin in the morning. The room was more ornate than Klaus would have liked, but reasonable plain compared to some of the others. Dorian had bathed in the attached bathroom, and had come out to find Klaus sitting on the edge of the bed, exactly as he'd been when he'd gone into the bathroom. 

"What is it, darling?" Dorian asked, dropping his robe and pulling back the covers. 

Klaus glared at him, but started to undress. He hadn't even protested earlier when Dorian had specified one room for the both of them. "Work," he replied, brief and to the point. 

"What about it?" 

Klaus lay down on his back, staring up at the underside of the bed's canopy. "My supervisor was part of this..." he stopped, obviously unable to find an epithet harsh enough. It was true. The proof had already been found by the Nathan person that had been mentioned earlier. The Head had offered him, obviously an expert in searching out information, to Victor for his staff, and the poor man had practically cringed as he said no. From what Mac said, Nathan sounded much like James—brilliant but unstable. 

Dorian propped himself up on one elbow to watch his beloved in the dim light from the window. "What do you plan on doing, then?" 

There was silence for a moment. "I'm going back to NATO Intelligence." 

Dorian smiled. "I'm sure the Alphabet will be happy to have you back." Klaus snorted at that. At least some of his old agents would probably be horrified at having the Iron Major back again. "Will they take you?" Dorian asked, wondering if Klaus had burned his bridges when he'd left. Even in England, Dorian had heard about the fall-out from Klaus's decision to resign. 

" _She_ said she'd arrange it," Klaus replied. "Besides, I left in order to get away from you," he added, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. Dorian couldn't help snickering. 

"Well, _that_ certainly worked well." 

"Indeed." 

Silence reigned supreme for a while, but Klaus's eyes stayed open, and Dorian stayed watching him. There was something else bothering the man, and he knew that if he waited, he would find out what it was. He hoped. 

"Last night..." Dorian made a questioning sound when the man stopped. "On the plane. They... In the bathroom." 

Dorian smiled. Poor Klaus was turning red. "They certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves," he said encouragingly. 

"They were..." 

"Fucking," Dorian supplied helpfully. 

"Why would anyone let someone _do_ that to them?" 

Dorian sighed softly, and reached out to stroke Klaus's shoulder. "Because when done right, with the right person, it feels very, very good. For both partners." 

"Have you?" 

"Have I which? Actually, I've done both sides, and enjoyed each equally. Why?" 

"Do you want..." Klaus stopped again. 

"I want whatever you're willing to give me," Dorian assured him. "I would never ask you to do something you didn't want to. If you never want to try penetration, then I will quite happily do without it." 

Klaus turned towards him, sitting up slightly. "What does it feel like?" 

"Which?" 

"Being..." Klaus paused. "Being fucked," he finally said, the coarse term coming awkwardly to his lips. 

"Physically? There's a burn at first, then heat from the friction. With the right angle, the other man's cock rubs against your prostate, sending almost electrical shocks through your body. Some men can reach orgasm just from that feeling. Some need to be stroked at the same time, and some don't orgasm at all while being fucked, but enjoy it all the same. But not every man enjoys it. Some have trouble stretching, while others have a prostate that is too sensitive." 

"Do you enjoy it?" 

Dorian smiled. "Very much. Would you like to fuck me?" he asked, sticking with the one term. There were others more poetic, but none so evocative. "I saw some lotion in the bathroom that would work." 

"No." Dorian sighed, a little disappointed. "I don't know how to do it right. You'd have to show me first." 

Dorian blinked. "What?" 

"I want you to... do it to me." 

"What?" 

"Is there something wrong with your hearing?" Klaus demanded, sounding exasperated. 

"No. I..." Dorian laughed softly. "I just never expected to hear you say that." 

"Well?" 

Dorian got up and headed for the bathroom. It only took a moment to find the small bottle and come back. He handed it to Klaus, who looked at it as if he'd never seen the like. Dorian sat down next to him. He reached out and pulled Klaus's chin so that he could look in his eyes. "Are you sure, Darling? I told you that I didn't need this. I don't want you to feel like you rushed into this. Like I said, not everyone enjoys this way of making love." 

"And how will I know if I don't try?" was the reasonable answer. Klaus looked a little nervous, but very, very determined, so Dorian kissed him. 

They lay down on the bed together, and Dorian used every trick of hand and mouth that he'd ever learned to arouse Klaus until finally the man pulled away and grabbed his wrists. "Would you just get on with it already?" he demanded, sounding frustrated as well as very aroused. Dorian smiled. 

"Of course, Darling," he said a little smugly. Mission accomplished. 

He reclaimed the bottle of lotion from the bedside table and squeezed out a generous amount onto his fingers. "The first thing that is necessary is to stretch the muscles. It will be easier for you if you rolled onto your side facing away from me," he pointed out. Klaus stared at him for a moment, then followed the suggestion. 

"I'm just going to use one finger," he told the slightly tense man as he rubbed the finger against the tightly clenched opening. He didn't try to penetrate, concentrating instead on soothing the muscle into relaxing. After a minute, it did so, and he slipped the finger inside. 

Klaus grunted, more from surprise, but didn't tense up. Dorian was a little surprised, but was not about to complain. He started a gentle thrusting motion with the finger, slowly loosening the ring of muscle. 

"I'm moving to two now," he said quietly. "You might feel a slight burn." He slid the second finger in, tight against the first. There was another small grunt, but no protest, so he continued to stretch, finally slipping in a third finger. He was more than a little surprised how easily Klaus was taking this, but then his Major was very good on following through on his decisions. 

There was just one thing left to check. He curved his fingers and brushed them carefully against the nub of the other man's prostate. Klaus jumped, and Dorian held still. "That was your prostate. Like I said, for some men it is too sensitive. Are you sure you want to..." 

"Get on with it," Klaus growled. His voice had gone deep and husky, and it sent shivers down Dorian's back. He pulled out his fingers and quickly coated his own erection with thick coating of lotion. He spooned up behind Klaus, then paused. "Last chance, Darling," he whispered. 

"Do it!" Klaus said, almost a bellow. Dorian chuckled and pressed forward. 

It was heaven. It was perfect. He wanted to stop time and live forever in this moment. He was inside Klaus, and Klaus wanted him there. Dorian buried his face in the hair at the base of Klaus's skull and breathed in the scent of sweat and soap. 

Unfortunately time stopped for no man, and Klaus obviously wasn't satisfied with just holding still. "I think you're supposed to move now," he said in a slightly sarcastic voice. 

"Whatever you say, Darling," Dorian replied. He started to slowly undulate his hips in a movement that wasn't quite a thrust, but drew a gasp from Klaus. As the man relaxed against him, Dorian increased the depth of the motion as well as the speed, and reached down. He was relieved to find that Klaus was completely hard, and he started to stroke the erection firmly. 

Thankfully, it didn't take long to draw Klaus's climax from him, because Dorian wasn't sure how long he could hang on himself. He almost whimpered as Klaus's contractions forced his own climax from him, the came to rest, still firmly held by Klaus's flesh. 

Eventually he softened until he slipped from the other man's grip. He snagged his robe from the floor and used the sleeve to clean up the seepage, then cuddled up against Klaus wondering if he'd been wise to give in to the man's request. They hadn't been together sexually for long, and penetration was a big step to take. 

"That was..." Klaus paused and Dorian waited for him to finish the thought. "Nice." 

Dorian breathed a small sigh of relief. "You enjoyed it?" he asked lightly. 

"Yes." 

"Will you do me?" he asked, already tingling at the thought. 

"Not until we get home. In my-" He stopped. "In _our_ bed." 

Dorian blinked in surprise, then snuggled in even closer. "Whatever you say, Darling." 

'Our bed'. That had a nice sound. Very nice. 

* * *

The next day, Victor was starting to feel a little better about his choice, a little less trapped. Klaus and Dorian had left early in the morning for Berlin, and the Director and LiAnn had left for the States after lunch, taking their new son with them. His staff had been trickling in all day, so he'd been too busy getting organized to worry about what he was doing. 

Much as he hated to admit it, they were right. The more he did, the more fascinated he became by the job. There was so much to do to get everything operational. Just the sort of challenge he could sink his teeth into. 

Of course, without Mac he would probably go insane under the pressure. No wonder Agency Directors tended to go Looney Tunes. At least he'd managed to get it written into his contract that he could quit whenever he chose, as long as he trained a replacement. 

One of the first things to do though was set up an office for him and Mac, and there was really only one room appropriate: the former Head's bedroom. The stairwell connecting it to every level made it perfect. But first it needed a massive redecorating, and they'd spent most of the afternoon on that. 

First the over-done furniture went. Maybe they'd use it for firewood come winter. For the time being it was all in storage. 

Next went the paintings. He had been right: They did make a lovely bonfire. Knowing the man who'd collected them, they were probably all very valuable. Victor didn't care. They were sick and they went. 

That just left one last thing to take care of. 

Victor glanced over at Mac and couldn't keep the laughter from bubbling up. His lover had been looking up while rolling the second coat of primer onto the ceiling and now had a splatter of white on his forehead to go with the white all over his clothes. 

"Oh, very funny, Vic, very funny," Mac said, but Victor could see the smile trying to peek through. 

"What can I say?" he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "You look good in white." 

"I thought it was black that I looked good in," Mac shot back. 

"And blue and green and brown. But you know what you look best in?" 

"Besides white?" Mac asked, backing up suspiciously. 

Victor grinned. "Nothing at all," he purred, then pounced. They went tumbling to the floor, thankfully covered with several large drop-cloths. The Persian rugs had turned out to have been covering a beautiful hardwood floor that Victor planned to let shine. 

However, without the cloths it would now be covered in white paint as Mac deliberately rolled them over so that Victor landed in the paint tray, then used his roller to paint the side of Victor's face white. 

Victor rolled them over again, more because the tray was digging into his back than from any desire to be on top. They were both laughing, and Mac's eyes shone beautifully. Victor bent his head for a long kiss, then pulled away, sticking his tongue out. 

"Blech," he said. "You taste of paint." 

"Well, if you let me up, we can finish this coat, then head for a bath to take care of that." 

Victor popped to his feet. "You've got a deal," he said, pulling Mac up off the floor. Then he paused, still holding Mac's hand. "We're really going to do this, aren't we?" he said. 

Mac nodded, not bothering to crack the expected joke. "Yep." 

"And we're going to do it right." That was a statement, not a question. 

Mac snickered. "We better, or they'll never let us live it down," he replied, referring to their former partner and their past boss who was now their new boss. 

Victor grinned, and shuddered theatrically. "You're right. We can't let _that_ happen," he said, then grabbed his roller. "Bet I finish my half before you finish yours," he said, already attacking the ceiling. 

"You're on!" 

THE END (yes, it is) 

* * *

_Well, this was _also_ supposed to be the end of the Drowning Sorrows series, but the Director threw in a monkey wrench when she convinced Victor to take the job of Director for Eastern Europe. That wasn't planned, lady! So now there may be a Book Four someday. But not soon. _

Instead, coming soon to a computer near you! Carpe Noctem, a Once a Thief/Kindred: The Embraced/Vampire: The Masquerade universe. I already have three books planned, and the first one is about one third plotted. 

First up in Book One: San Francisco Meetings, The Director has business in San Francisco, and takes her favorite team along. Mistaken identities cause trouble, and an unexpected tragedy causes a change of life for one of the three. 


End file.
